The People v Ezra Standish
by KaiMeara
Summary: Ezra is on trial for his life; as a conviction looks more and more likely, Chris struggles to understand Ezra's behavior and lack of a defense. Occasional swearing and references to violence.
1. Chapter 1

DISCLAIMER: The following story is based on the show "The Magnificent Seven." This is purely for enjoyment; no profit is involved and no infringement on the copyrights held by others is intended.  
>SPOILERS: Are these still necessary at this point? Well, just in case…spoilers for <em>Serpents<em>.  
>ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS: To my beta reader, slapshot52 – thank you for the suggestions!<br>SUMMARY: Ezra is on trial for his life; as a conviction looks more and more likely, Chris struggles to understand Ezra's behavior and lack of a defense.

**The People v. Ezra Standish**  
><em>By KaiMeara<em>

* * *

><p>It was a perfect morning. The grey misting rain of the past week had finally moved on, and the sun that was already well into the sky was just warm enough to be pleasantly comfortable. As he and Vin strolled down the already bustling boardwalk, Chris felt a rare moment of satisfaction: Four Corners was truly starting to grow up. Older businesses were flourishing and new ones were springing up alongside them; there were no fewer than six buildings in various states of construction, and more and more people were streaming in to take advantage of the opportunities. Things were really turning around.<p>

"New hotel's stalled." Vin's comment broke his reverie.

"What?"

The tracker motioned to the partially framed building two doors down from the bank. "The Silver Star; Nathan told me the owner lost his money in failed mine in Nevada—can't afford to finish the hotel. Guess the bank'll take it."

"And here I was just thinking about how fast this town was growing."

"Still is, cowboy; I wouldn't mind seein' it slow down a bit."

"Hell, Vin, if it slowed down to your liking, it'd be moving backwards." Chris shot him a grin. "I didn't know Nathan was still in town; thought he was going out to the Seminole village."

"He did; got the last of the supplies he'd been waiting for on Saturday so he and Josiah left yesterday morning."

"They staying out there long?"

"A couple of weeks, probably. Nathan said they—what the hell is he doing?"

Chris looked down the street; it was a moment before he saw what had caught Vin's attention, then he noticed movement in front of the First National Bank. The bank manager, Preston Bannister, had stepped out of the front door and now stood there staring intently but nervously at the two lawmen, wringing his hands and fidgeting as though unsure whether to walk toward them.

"That's the third time he's gone into the bank and back out," Vin said. "Think it's trouble?"

"When isn't there trouble with him?"

Vin chuckled. "True; someone probably left a coffee cup on a desk."

"Or forgot to clean a window."

"Or he's gonna complain about noise from the construction again." Vin fell in beside Chris as the gunslinger stepped off the boardwalk towards the agitated bank manager.

"Ain't too late to save yourself," Chris said.

"Yeah, but then who'd save Bannister?"

Chris laughed softly but didn't smile. Preston Bannister had been in Four Corners for only three months, but he'd already managed to become the most irritating resident in town. He never hesitated to complain about the tiniest thing, and he seemed to find fault with everything and everyone. A comment Nathan once made— "If he hates it here that much, he's welcome to leave" —sounded in Chris's head as he and Vin strode up to the bank.

"Something wr—"

"My bank's been robbed!" Bannister blurted in a harsh whisper, before Chris could finish his question. Still wringing his hands, the manager looked from one lawman to the other, his expression worried and slightly desperate, but he said nothing further.

"Okaaay," Vin said, motioning for Bannister to lead them inside. When the manager still didn't move, Vin added, "You wanna let us by so we can take a look?"

Bannister started, then rubbed his brow. "Oh, of course. Please, come this way." Bannister grabbed Vin's coat sleeve and pulled him towards the bank. The tracker rolled his eyes at Chris, who shrugged and followed them inside.

There wasn't much to see at first; the row of teller windows was untouched and everything appeared to be in its proper place. Then Bannister led them behind counter and a very different scene emerged. The large safe, installed less than a month earlier, was standing open and empty; various official-looking papers and deposit slips had been scattered from the desk in the tiny office and littered the floor. Bannister stood staring fixedly at the safe; Chris and Vin's attention was fully captured by what Bannister seemed not to notice: the large pool of blood that soaked both the floor and the papers.

"What the hell's that?" Vin asked incredulously.

"I told you, my bank was robbed!" Bannister said, his customary irritation now starting to re-emerge.

"We can see that, Bannister," Chris ground out between tightly clenched teeth, "but whose blood is that?"

The scowl on Bannister's face changed to chagrin and he shifted his feet nervously. "Oh, yes, I'm sorry, didn't I mention? No, no, I didn't; this is just so terrible; I'm very out of sorts and I've been trying to not to…not to look…at…"

Vin decided to take pity on the man. "Okay, take it easy—"

"Take it easy?" Bannister snapped, "You take it easy! Who do you think is going to be blamed for this? Me, that's who! I'll lose my job if that money's not recovered!"

Not wanting to prolong the argument, Vin held his hands up in conciliation. "You're right, I'm sorry. But why don't you go wait out front, okay? Let us look around." They waited until Bannister made his way back out to the street then Vin whistled softly as he knelt down for a closer look at the still partially-slick pool. "This is a lot of blood; good bet the person who lost it is dead."

"But there's no blood on the safe," Chris pointed out. "In fact, I don't see anything here that might've caused such a bad injury."

"Maybe one of the robbers got greedy and killed another one," Vin speculated.

"Or maybe someone walked in on 'em and got killed for the trouble," Chris added.

Vin considered both and shrugged. "Either one, I guess. But then why not leave the body? Be a lot easier."

Before Chris could answer, Bannister re-entered. "I'm sure you know what you're doing," he said impatiently, "but shouldn't you be riding out looking for my money?"

Vin put a hand out before Chris could take a menacing step forward. "We're just tryin' to make sure we figure out everything we can here first." He gestured behind him. "The safe ain't blown; could be an inside job. Any employees you think could do this?"

"A bank employee?" Bannister sputtered indignantly, "Certainly not! How dare you even consider it! If you want to question someone, why don't you start with your Mr. Standish; ask him why he didn't arrange for additional security like I asked."

Chris and Vin looked at each other in confusion. "What're you talking about?" Chris asked.

"Security! For the payroll!"

Again the lawmen shared a look, this one irritated. "Wait a minute, what payroll?" Chris asked.

"The payroll for the Western Sky Mining Company—over twenty thousand dollars!" Bannister shouted, then immediately lowered his voice again but held a finger up accusingly. "The payroll you lot were supposed to be guarding!"

Vin didn't try to hold Chris back this time, and the dark-clad gunslinger towered effectively over the manager. "You didn't tell us about no payroll."

Bannister stepped back slightly and twisted his hands together but answered adamantly, "That's not true! That is absolutely not true! I did tell you about it; I told Mr. Standish and he said he would take care of it, so naturally I assumed…I assumed…" he trailed off as Chris' expression darkened dangerously.

"When was that?"

"The day before yesterday."

"Give us a minute."

"I'm sorry?"

Chris resisted the urge to shout. "Go wait outside for a minute." Bannister started to reply, thought better of it, and walked out into the foyer.

"You seen Ezra today?" Chris asked quietly.

"Aw, c'mon, Chris; ain't no way Ezra robbed the bank," Vin replied.

"I ain't sayin' that, but we gotta get a handle on this quick before Bannister tells everyone he did."

Vin nodded reluctantly. "Well, this time'a day, he's probably in the saloon, if he's up yet."

Chris and Vin turned and made their way towards the door, but Bannister intercepted them. "You think he did it, don't you? You think Mr. Standish robbed the bank? I knew I—"

Chris grabbed Bannister's shirt-front and shook him hard. "Hey! You cut that out now, you hear? Ain't no reason to think that, and you ain't gonna start spreading it around, understand?"

"Y-Yes, Mr. Larabee."

The manager stumbled back and Chris took a deep breath and fought to reign in his growing anger as he stepped out into the street. Bannister was already making dangerous assumptions, and Chris was determined not to do the same.


	2. Chapter 2

Chris and Vin stood just inside the saloon's batwing doors, conferring. They'd each caught the look of relief in the other's eyes when they'd spotted their resident gambler at his usual table. They'd also caught the guilty expressions that had followed for the doubts they'd obviously shared, and found themselves unexpectedly frozen, unsure how to proceed. No matter what they said, Ezra was going to take it as an accusation. Which, Chris had to admit to himself, it would be.

"You think maybe he forgot?" Vin asked, trying to appear as though he wasn't watching Ezra, although the curious glances Ezra kept giving them made it clear that he found their behavior odd.

"That a huge stack of extra money was going to be sitting across the street? No, Vin; I don't."

"Then what—"

"Hell, I don't know." Chris pushed off from the wall. "Let's just get this over with." He made his way through the chairs and tables to where Ezra sat with a half-finished game of solitaire laid out in front of him. JD had apparently taken over the game, playing sideways and keeping up a somewhat one-sided conversation as Ezra watched with a bemused expression.

"Hey, mornin'!" JD said cheerfully. He glanced up briefly then did a double-take at the grim expressions on the other lawmen's faces. "What's wrong?"

"Indeed," Ezra drawled, leaning his chair back with his hands in his pockets, "You look as though someone stole your favorite horse."

"Poor choice of words there, pard," Vin said as he sat down at the table.

"Someone really stole your horse?" JD asked.

"No, someone stole a payroll," Chris replied, still standing, arms crossed.

"What?" JD and Ezra asked in unison. Ezra's chair thudded back to upright; he winced at the jarring, then his expression became serious. "A stagecoach?" he asked.

"Nope," Chris replied. "The bank."

"What?" again in unison; JD and Ezra looked at each other in irritation. This time, JD followed up. "No one said nothin' about a payroll being in the bank."

Vin glanced at Chris, who sighed and finally sat down as well. "That ain't exactly true. Preston Bannister says he told you about it, Ezra. Day before yesterday." He kept eye contact as he said it, needing to see the gambler's full reaction—and it was worth watching. Ezra's expression shifted subtly but quickly from insulted to confused to what might have been horror and then back to confused. The word "what" formed on his lips, but Ezra stopped himself before asking the question yet a third time, then he just sat in stunned silence for several moments. "Well?" Chris prompted, "Did he?"

Ezra shook his head ever so slightly, and the confused expression became a mask. "I assure you, if he had, I would have mentioned it."

"So he didn't." Vin sounded relieved.

"If he had, I would have mentioned it," Ezra repeated.

Chris felt his gut twist. He wanted to let it go, he really did. Vin seemed satisfied, and JD looked indignant on Ezra's behalf. But… "I have to ask, Ezra, 'cause Bannister's bound to bring it up: Where were you last night?"

Ezra's eyes narrowed but otherwise, the mask didn't slip. JD, on the other hand, slapped the table in irritation and answered for him, "This is crazy, Chris! Ezra didn't rob the bank, you know he didn't!"

"Pipe down, JD, you know I gotta ask."

"Well Ezra's one of us and you know this ain't right. Anyway, he was right here at this table all night, right Ezra? Been playing solitaire for hours; ain't even been to bed yet." JD looked triumphantly at Chris, whose expression only darkened as he continued to watch Ezra.

Chris's gut had stopped twisting and now seemed to be filled with lead. "Solitaire all night? Game ain't that interesting. Where were you, Ezra?"

The gambler gave a self-conscious laugh, and smiled that wide smile Chris had often seen him use when he was about to try to explain something that didn't have a good explanation. "I…I didn't say that, JD. Clearly there has been a—"

The batwing doors swung open and Preston Bannister rushed into the room, leading with a clenched fist as he pushed through the tables. "Mr. Larabee! I demand you take a look at this evidence; I know what…" he stumbled to a halt near the table and gaped at the solemn, forbidding faces in front of him. He stood there with his mouth half open and hand still held out until Chris made a sound of disgust and held his own hand out.

"What is it, Bannister?"

Bannister looked down at the tiny object in his hand and seemed suddenly reluctant to mention it. Finally, he cleared his throat and, without looking up, held out what he was carrying. "I found this in the bank. I know…I know it's…" he trailed off as he dropped the object in Chris's outstretched palm.

Chris took it carefully, wishing he could pound Bannister into the floor for finding it, for picking it up, for bringing it over. Instead, he turned and held it up to Ezra, who had gotten to his feet when Bannister came in but was now sinking back into his chair, shaking his head in disbelief. An errant ray of sunlight glinted off the ruby stone set in pure gold. "Ezra, tell me this ain't your ring."


	3. Chapter 3

JD and Vin erupted in questions that Ezra seemed not to hear; he stared blankly at the cards still scattered on the table and rubbed his ring finger as if expecting the ring to reappear back in its proper place. The batwing doors swung open forcefully and Buck joined the group; by the time he was caught up, he, Vin and JD were debating fiercely and loudly while Ezra continued to sit quietly in their midst. Chris was about to shout over the top and put an end to the argument when Bannister suddenly shook off whatever sense of intimidation had kept him silent.

"I insist that you search his room!"

The manager's demand silenced everyone else. Chris expected Ezra to finally say something, to at least refuse to allow such a search, but Ezra didn't respond. "Ain't your call," Chris said for him.

"That's his ring and I found it in the bank! He could have the money in his room right now! You have to search it!"

Chris looked at the three standing lawmen, hoping one of them had a good objection, but he could tell from their expressions that they didn't. Unfortunately, Bannister's request was reasonable. He pocketed the ring and sighed. "Well Ezra?"

It was a few seconds before Ezra looked up at him. "What?"

"We need to search your room."

"Search my room."

He said it flatly and Chris wasn't sure whether it was a question or a statement but he was too irritated to take it as anything other than assent.

It was a large group that traipsed up to the small room. Ezra trailed everyone up the stairs, saying nothing as Chris opened the unlocked door. The gunslinger ushered Vin, JD and Buck inside but put a hand up to Bannister, who was about to follow. "Wait here."

"I want to make sure this is done properly," Bannister said adamantly.

Chris stepped close to the manger, so that he was inches from his face. "We'll do it how we do it and you'll stand out here quietly, you got it?" Bannister gulped and nodded; Chris turned away and entered the room.

It was a small room and Ezra had few possessions. In the time it had taken Chris to deal with Bannister, the other three had already gone through almost everything. Chris had barely taken a step before Vin opened the bottom drawer of the bureau and pulled out Ezra's red coat. He laid it on the bed and the room went quiet as everyone stared.

The coat was filthy and wrinkled, and the right sleeve was badly ripped. The left sleeve and much of the left front were covered in dark stains; Chris knew it was blood, even before Vin reached back into the bureau and pulled a balled-up shirt out of the corner. The white shirt, spared much of the staining by the coat, was nevertheless a deep crimson around the stiffened left cuff.

There was a moment of absolute stillness, then Bannister suddenly erupted. "You see! He did it!" He grabbed Ezra by the lapels and shoved him against the hallway wall. "You filthy, disgusting…you're a thief and a killer! Where's the money? Where is it?"

Ezra stared at Bannister, his eyes wide, too shocked to reply. Buck pushed past Chris and grabbed the manager by the back of his coat, pulling him down the hall and leaving Ezra gasping for breath as the remaining three lawmen gathered slowly around him. Vin and JD each carried one of the blood-stained articles; neither could look Ezra in the eye. Chris put a hand on Ezra's shoulder and steered him back towards the stairs, hoping that somehow, there would be an explanation for everything.


	4. Chapter 4

The day that had begun so promisingly had gone sharply downhill. Chris turned the key in the cell door, more aware of the one pair of eyes that wasn't looking at him than the two that were.

With a crowd gathering downstairs at the saloon, in the street, and at the bank, the group had decided it would be best for Buck to escort Bannister back to the bank while the others took Ezra to the jail until things quieted down a little.

Ezra had voiced no opinion and made no objection; even now, as Chris locked him in the back left cell, it appeared Ezra would remain silent. Instead, he finally spoke.

"When you wire the Judge, I'd appreciate it if you'd ask him to recommend a good lawyer."

"That all you got to say?" Chris asked, incredulous at the quiet nonchalance.

"What would you prefer I say?"

Vin strode over. "Well hell, Ezra, maybe you could start with an 'I didn't do it' and just go from there."

"I didn't do it." At the various irritated sounds from the other three, Ezra smiled thinly and sat down on the bunk, hands in his pockets, staring at the floor. When he offered no further information, Chris turned to face the others. JD was fidgeting badly, occasionally pacing a few feet then stopping to smooth imaginary wrinkles from his shirt or straighten something somewhere in the room. Vin leaned against the cell bars and glared in at Ezra with a mix of frustration and concern; Chris knew just how he felt.

"Vin, why don't you go back to the bank, see if you can tell how many there were and where they went."

The tracker nodded but cautioned, "Might not find too much; there's already been a lot of folks walking around out there."

"Just do your best. Buck and I'll ask around town; see if anyone saw anything last night."

JD stepped forward. "What about me?"

Chris tossed him the keys to the cell. "You're on guard duty. No one in or out." He turned to follow Vin out of the jail, but JD trailed after him.

"C'mon, Chris; I can't just sit in here. At least let me—"

Chris cut him off just outside the door, but kept his voice low. "JD, what were you two talking about when me and Vin came into the saloon?"

JD paused for a moment, taken aback at the unexpected question. "Nothin' really. I'd only been there for a few minutes myself."

"But he said he'd been there all night?"

"Pretty much."

"'Pretty much'? JD, I need to know exactly what you two said."

Again the young man paused, eyes scrunched as he thought back. "Well…I came in…I saw Ezra playing cards and I went and sat down…"

* * *

><p>"<em>Hey there, Ezra! How was the rest of your game last night?" <em>

_The gambler stared at the cards in front of him, solidly focused on finding a spot for the red eight he was holding and didn't answer._

"_Ezra…hello…" JD waved a hand in front of his friend's face and chuckled as the gambler startled back. "Dang, Ezra; didn't know solitaire could be so fascinating."_

_Ezra blinked at him for a few moments, looked at the card in his hand, and set it down on the discard pile, apparently giving up. "Mr. Dunne; my apologies. My mind was elsewhere." _

"_Yeah, I noticed. No offense, but you look sorta awful; did you even go to bed last night?"_

"_It doesn't seem so." Ezra leaned back tiredly and pushed his hands into his coat pockets._

"_I know you like cards, but how do you play solitaire all night? Oh, here—" JD pulled the discarded eight of hearts and placed it on a nine of clubs, then picked up the ace of spades that had been underneath it and placed it above Ezra's neat rows of cards. "Wow, maybe you should stick to poker; you ain't very good at solitaire." _

"_I suppose that's why I'm practicing now."_

_JD gestured towards the stock pile. "You mind?" _

* * *

><p>…"And that's about when you came in," JD finished. "Like I said before, he was playing cards all night."<p>

"No offense, kid, but it sounds like you're the only one who said he was playing cards."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"From what you just told me, Ezra never actually said he played cards all night."

"Yes he di—oh…dang…I guess he didn't." JD looked momentarily distraught, then straightened in resolution, "It don't matter; we know Ezra didn't rob the bank."

"Well, it's starting to look like we might have to prove it. Why don't you see if you can get that stubborn idiot to tell you more about…" Chris trailed off in the middle of motioning towards Ezra, his face going slack in disbelief. "You've gotta be kidding me."

Despite all that had happened and all that was at stake, Ezra was stretched out on the cot, fast asleep.

JD turned to see what was wrong and had to suppress an involuntary laugh.

"Ain't funny, JD!" Chris started to push past the younger man but stopped at the sound of Buck calling out to him. He froze for a moment, torn between knocking some sense into Ezra and seeing what Buck had found out; finally, with an audible growl, Chris headed out of the jail and met Buck in the street.

"We got a problem, Chris. One of the bank tellers is missing; Henry Erickson."

"The blood?"

"Could be. One of the other tellers found these—" he held out a pair of broken glasses with a red smear across one of the lenses.

"Damn, I hope not; he's just a kid."

"Yeah, I know. Uh, Chris, about Henry…"

Chris waited for the ladies' man to continue, but he didn't. "Yeah, what about him? You know him?"

Buck shifted his feet uncomfortably for a moment before replying. "Not really, but I seen him around." He finally met the gunslinger's eyes. "Seen him in the saloon a lot lately…"

"Don't tell me—"

"…playing cards with Ezra."


	5. Chapter 5

The Grain Exchange had once again been pressed into service as a courtroom. Looking around at the number of people crammed into the space—including women and children—it occurred to Chris that perhaps the town needed a building dedicated to holding trials. _'Course, it'd be even better if there was fewer people breaking the law_, he thought.

It seemed impossible that Ezra had only been arrested five days ago, but Preston Bannister had apparently used the full weight of his position with the bank to set this trial in motion so quickly and secure one of the best prosecutors in the West, Trevor Jacob, for the prosecution—hardly difficult, since the bank wanted to see someone hanged as soon as possible and thereby blot out this stain on their reputation. As Ezra had so drily suggested after his arrest, Chris had indeed asked the Judge to recommend a lawyer; unfortunately, they weren't exactly lining up to travel out to this dusty town to go against the virtually undefeated Jacob in what was looking more and more like sure conviction. Judge Travis had finally had to call in a favor to get an old friend to come out of a very recent retirement, and both lawyers had arrived in town on the same coach, a day and a half ago.

A stream of dust swirled into the room as the doors swung open and Gideon Harker entered, followed by Ezra. The defense lawyer stood aside as Ezra moved slowly past him and took a seat at the right-hand table. Ezra didn't look at anyone or anything; his expression, as always, was unreadable. Harker, on the other hand, took a moment to scan the room then nodded in satisfaction before sitting next to his client.

Chris glanced around, but could see nothing that would have pleased the lawyer. The faces in the crowd were a mixture of excitement over the day's "entertainment" and apparent hostility at the defendant. Anger twisted his gut for a moment, then Chris shook his head, reminding himself that the mere fact that Ezra had been brought to trial was enough for most folks to count him guilty. Still, it was a mark of progress that Ezra was nevertheless going to get a fair trial; Judge Travis would see to that.

As if on cue, Judge Travis pounded his gavel on the desk and called the court to order. "The United States Territorial Circuit Court is now in session. In the matter of the People versus Ezra Standish, how does the defendant plead?"

Harker rose and said, "Not guilty, Your Honor," and sat back down. He sounded confident without being arrogant, a good balance for a crowd like this.

Travis motioned to the prosecutor and Trevor Jacob stood and faced the jury. With his immaculately groomed mustache, slicked-back hair, and perfectly tailored suit, he looked spectacularly out of place in Four Corners, but if he felt out of place, it didn't show as he launched into his opening statement, deliberately making eye contact with each of the twelve jurors as he spoke.

"Gentlemen, I thank you for volunteering to carry out this most sacred public duty. It is truly a blessing to live in a country where law and order preside, so that we are not subject to the whims of violent or devious men. And make no mistake: despite our precautions, despite our _laws_, there are many violent and devious men ready to take advantage of our gentler natures, to take what we—what _you_—have earned because they haven't the diligence to earn their own way. One such man is sitting before you today," he turned and looked pointedly over at Ezra, who continued to stare at the tabletop, his face a mask.

Jacob turned back to the jury. "You see? He dare not even meet your eyes. Why? Because he's guilty. Through witness testimony, you will discover how Ezra Standish used his position as one of this town's trusted lawmen to his own advantage, so that he could rob the First National Bank during a very narrow window of opportunity, while the payroll for the Western Sky Mining Company was held in trust there. You will see how he carried out his plot with such efficiency that the money is as yet unrecovered," Jacob turned an accusing eye on Ezra, "leaving hundreds of good men without the means to support the families who depend on them."

Chris groaned inwardly as the statement had the desired effect; the crowd murmured in disgust.

Jacob made his way to the evidence table near Judge Travis as he continued, "Of course, I will not rely on witnesses alone." He stopped and picked up the ruby ring that had been found in the bank, holding it aloft. "We have evidence that will convince you that Ezra Standish was in the bank that night." He put down the ring and picked up two more of the items labeled as evidence, again holding them up and this time turning slowly to ensure that everyone took a good look at the blood-stained shirt and well-known red coat that could only belong to Ezra. Jacob's final remarks were quiet but ruthless. "We also have evidence that will convince you, beyond a doubt, that Ezra Standish is guilty of murder—and for that, he must pay with his own life."


	6. Chapter 6

Jacob finished his opening statement with an emphatic nod and returned to his seat.

"Jackass."

Chris suppressed a smile at Buck's muttered oath, but joined him in staring daggers at the man. On his right, Vin sighed softly and shook his head.

"Judge Travis said that guy's really good; does a lot of work for banks and the like," he whispered.

"Maybe, but Harker's a friend of the Judge's," Chris replied.

"The Judge ain't the one makin' the final decision here, pard." Vin said.

"Yeah, but the Judge ain't friends with fools." In truth, Chris was still just relieved that there had been anyone, foolish or not, who could serve as defense counsel. They'd belatedly decided to have a local man ride out to the Seminole village and bring Nathan and Josiah back, but it would be several days at best before they returned, leaving the remaining lawmen a loss for who would represent Ezra—as JD had pointed out sadly, Ezra was the most qualified, and he wasn't exactly in a position to do it.

Chris looked over at Ezra; he had finally stopped staring at the tabletop but was now staring at some indistinct point on the floor in front of his table. For what seemed like the thousandth time in the past several days, Chris felt a flare of anger at the inscrutable gambler—here they all were, working hard to continue believing in Ezra, while Ezra seemed to be working hard to give them every reason not to.

A sharp ache shot through Chris's arm and he forced himself to relax his clenched fists and wipe the scowl from his face, replacing it with a bland expression, as though Trevor Jacob's opening statement had had no impact. _"No matter what happens or what anyone says," _Harker had told them all, _"it's important to always look confident in Ezra. If you all look sure of his innocence, it'll plant a seed with the jury, make them question any negative thing they hear."_

Chris knew they were lucky that Judge Travis had been able to convince Harker to come to Four Corners, but when the two men had stepped out of the coach and Chris learned which man was representing Ezra, he'd felt his heart sink. Gideon Harker was about the most ordinary, unremarkable man Chris had ever met—in fact, Chris had a hard time remembering what Harker looked like when he wasn't actually looking at him. Still, he trusted the Judge (and really, what options did they have?) so he'd shaken the man's hand and offered to see him over to the hotel. Harker had declined; with only that evening and the next day to prepare for the trial, he'd asked to meet with Ezra right away.

Chris had taken him to the jail and introduced him to Ezra. There was an odd moment when Harker had offered his hand and Ezra had just stared at it for several seconds before finally rising and shaking it; then the handshake seemed to last longer than it ought to have. Harker murmured something that Chris didn't catch. Chris figured they were sizing each other up, and he guessed that Ezra would probably have preferred someone more like Trevor Jacob, but Ezra said nothing before retreating back to his cot.

Chris had left the pair to talk, wishing he could be a fly on the wall. They had all tried, singularly and as a group, to question Ezra about the night of the robbery and had all come away frustrated. It wasn't his answers themselves that bothered Chris but the way he sometimes answered, taking a moment to phrase his answer in a particular way that never sounded quite right. "You're all well aware how I generally spend my evenings." "Does that sound like something I would be likely to do?" "I can't think why I would fail to mention such important information, if it were true." It was maddening.

He'd hoped Harker would be more successful with Ezra. Later that night, with Buck keeping watch at the jail, Chris, Vin and JD had met with the lawyer and learned that, indeed, Harker had obtained more information—it just wasn't what Chris had expected.

* * *

><p>"<em>So Ezra's ring and clothes and the teller's broken glasses are the only physical evidence that have been found?" Harker asked.<em>

"'_Fraid so," Vin replied. _

"_Anything more on the teller, Henry Erickson? Are we sure the blood is his?"_

"_No way to be sure, but he's vanished so it's a strong possibility," Chris replied. "Definitely ain't Ezra's."_

"_And no luck tracking him or anyone else?"_

"_There was a few drops of blood on the floor going out the back; can't help thinking that if it was someone who was still alive, there'd be more of a trail so I figure the person was dead and carried out," Vin said. "But between the rain we got Sunday night and folks walking around the next morning, there wasn't nothing to follow outside."_

_Harker looked at his notes. "Ezra said he was in a fight the night of the robbery; have you spoken to anyone about it? I'll want to call them as witnesses."_

_Chris shook his head. "Yeah, he said that a couple of days ago, but we couldn't find anyone who saw or heard about it."_

_Harker sat back and rubbed his eyes tiredly. "Well, that's not good. It's the only explanation for the clothes and his hands."_

_Chris, Vin and JD looked at each other in confusion. "His hands?" Chris asked._

"_They're pretty torn up; when I asked him about it, that's when he mentioned the fight."_

_Chris sat back, dumbfounded. Thinking back over the past several days, it was suddenly obvious: Ezra continually putting his hands in his pockets or otherwise keeping them out of sight, from the moment they'd first encountered him in the saloon. How had he missed it? And how had Harker noticed—of course: "That's why he didn't shake your hand at first."_

"_May I take it from your reactions that you didn't know about this?"_

"_Yeah, you can take it like that. Dammit, Ezra…" Chris stood to pace, resisting the urge to punch the wall. _

"_Well, so what's the big deal?" JD asked, "I mean, he already told us he was in a fight, and if he was, that explains the hands."_

"_No one saw a fight, JD!" Chris shouted. The younger man gave him a look of hurt surprise, and Chris stormed out of the room in frustration. As he left, he heard Vin add, "It's just one more thing we can't explain."_

* * *

><p>Harker had taken the news in stride, which at least made it easier to get on with preparing for the trial. It had been a difficult process from the start, far more so than the trial of Nathan's father had been. With Obadiah Jackson, everything had already been well underway by the time the Seven had gotten involved; it had only wanted someone to ensure the trial actually took place. Once that had commenced, Obadiah had sped the process considerably further by confessing on the stand.<p>

But with this case, Chris and the other lawmen had been simultaneously trying to trace the missing teller and the missing money, to find any other evidence that might help Ezra, and keep order in the town. They'd come up completely empty on the first three, and the last task was further complicated by the Western Sky miners who kept coming into town to insist on having their shot at "the bastard who took my pay" (or numerous other variations on that phrase, some worded considerably less nicely).

Chris had never worked with a real lawyer before, but after the experience with James Litefoot in Obadiah's trial, he had assumed he wouldn't like it. Harker, however, was a level-headed, plain-spoken man, and Chris found him easy to get along with. Whatever his initial impressions of the man had been, over the past 36 hours or so, Chris had come to think that if anyone might be able to get Ezra out of this, Gideon Harker would be the man. _Guess we'll see, _he thought as Judge Travis motioned towards Harker and everyone fixed their attention on the older lawyer.

Harker smiled amiably at the Judge and then at Jacob before rising to address the room. He was plainly but nicely dressed; he might have been a farmer on his way to Sunday service. He spoke in a quiet, measured tone that stood in sharp contrast to Jacob's more forceful narrative.

"Well, I've only been here a few days, but this is a nice town you have here," he began. "Just walking down the street, I can see the work that's gone into building Four Corners, and the effort you're putting into growing this place. It's truly something to be proud of." He faced the people who had packed in as spectators and gave them a friendly nod. "You all seem like good folks and I know Ezra appreciates you all coming out to support him as he faces these terrible accusations."

Chris kept his expression neutral, but he found the comment odd. He was fairly certain that most of those "good folks" couldn't care less what happened to Ezra as long as they got a show.

Harker continued, "And you fine gentlemen," he turned to the jury, "We thank you as well. This is a difficult position you're in, being asked to pass sentence on a man that you have trusted for so long to protect you from the very thing he's accused of doing. But I'm glad you're willing to do it, because I know that when you've had everything laid out before you, you'll be able make the decision that you already know in your hearts to be true and you'll find Ezra Standish not guilty."

As Harker retook his seat, giving Ezra a reassuring pat on the shoulder in the process, Chris felt his hands clenching again, this time in disappointment. Harker had said nothing to counter any of the evidence lying in plain view of the jury, nothing to dispute anything Jacob had said, and nothing to give any indication how they were going to prove Ezra innocent. It was all he could do not to groan aloud as he realized what it had to mean: they couldn't do it.


	7. Chapter 7

"The prosecution calls Chris Larabee to the stand."

There was a general sound of muttering and whispering as the gunslinger made his way to the witness chair and took a seat. Chris remembered watching the testimony in Obadiah's trial, how simple it had seemed. Looking out at the crowd, at the jury, at Harker and Jacob and, finally, at Ezra, he felt a sudden weight settle on him. There was nothing simple about this. Everyone would be hanging on his every word. Hanging…the word put a knot in his throat. His words could hang a man; could hang Ezra.

Jacob hooked his thumbs into his waistcoat pockets and angled himself perfectly between Chris and the jury. "Please state your name and occupation."

"Chris Larabee. I'm part of the law here."

"In fact, from what I hear, you're the leader?"

Chris shrugged. "More or less."

"So when there's information that could affect all of you—that could affect the entire town—then it's understood that you should be made aware of it."

Chris flicked a glance at Ezra, but the gambler was looking somewhere over Chris's shoulder. "Yeah, I suppose so."

"And were you made aware that the payroll for the Western Sky Mining Company was due to be held at the First National Bank?"

"No," Chris said, then added with a touch of defiance, "Bannister never mentioned it to me."

Jacob nodded as though he'd expected the response. "And no one else did either, is that correct?"

"Yeah."

"Turning your attention to the morning of the tenth, you were in Four Corners, were you not?"

"Yeah, I was."

"Please tell us what happened that morning."

"Vin and me saw Bannister outside the bank; he looked nervous so we went to see what was wrong and he told us the bank had been robbed. We went inside and found the safe open and empty, and whole lotta blood on the floor."

"Were you able to tell how the robber had gained entry?"

"Door was in one piece; so were all the windows. Looked like someone had a key or else picked the lock."

"And the safe?"

"Same thing; someone opened it with the combination."

"Or cracked it," Jacob suggested.

"Sure."

"How much was taken?"

"Bannister said about twenty thousand in cash; said it included the payroll for the Western Sky Mining Company."

"So what happened next?"

"Me and Vin went over to the saloon to talk to Ezra—"

"Sorry," Jacob interrupted, "Let's back up; what made you decide to go talk to Mr. Standish at that point?"

"Bannister said he'd told Ezra about the payroll."

"But that was the first you'd heard of it."

Chris's eyes narrowed but Jacob just looked at him impassively, waiting for his answer. "Yeah, that was the first I heard."

"I see. So you and Mr. Tanner went to the saloon and spoke to Mr. Standish. Did he mention the payroll at that point?"

"No, we asked him."

"And what did he say?"

"Said he didn't know about it." Chris felt himself shifting ever so slightly in his chair; Ezra hadn't actually said those words, had he? But that's what he meant, of course, wasn't it?

Jacob seemed to pick up on Chris's unease; he waited a moment, studying the gunslinger before asking his next question. "And…did you leave it at that or did you ask anything further?"

This time, Chris knew he shifted noticeably. "I asked him where he was the night before—but only because—"

"So you didn't believe him?" Jacob interrupted again.

"That ain't what I said."

"My apologies," Jacob replied. "Was anyone else with Mr. Standish at the time?"

"Yeah, JD Dunne."

"Did you ask him for an alibi?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"Because Bannister said he told Ezra about the payroll…" Chris could see the hint of a smile on Jacob's face as he made the third mention of Ezra knowing about the payroll. _Damn lawyers,_ he thought, _I'm playing right into his hands..._

"Oh, that's right," Jacob said. "So you asked Mr. Standish where he was; what did he say?"

"He said…" Chris stopped himself, suddenly realizing: "Actually, he didn't say."

"He didn't say?"

"He didn't get a chance to say—Bannister came in, carrying the ring."

"Ah yes!" Jacob walked over to the evidence table and held up the item in question. "This ring?"

"Yeah."

Jacob stepped towards Chris, the ring still held up for the jury to see. "Had you seen this ring before that moment?"

"Yeah. Before you ask, it's Ezra's."

"And you know this because?"

"I seen him wear it; we all have."

"And do you know where this ring was discovered?"

"In the bank."

"In the bank," Jacob repeated, looking squarely at the jury. They seemed mesmerized by the shiny bauble in his hand, and he took advantage of the attention, holding their gazes for several seconds before returning the ring to the evidence table. "All right. What happened next?"

"Bannister wanted to search Ezra's room, so we did."

"Did you find anything?"

"You know damn well what we found."

"Mr. Larabee, please." Judge Travis warned quietly.

Chris glanced over at Harker, who gave him a subtle 'keep calm' gesture. Chris took a deep breath and then motioned towards the evidence table. "We found those clothes in Ezra's room."

Jacob carefully picked up the blood-stained garments and showed them to the jury before setting them back down. "This shirt and coat belong to Mr. Standish, do they not?"

"Yeah."

"Do you know how they came to be covered in blood?"

"No." Jacob raised his eyebrows, and Chris immediately realized his mistake. "I mean, he said he was in a fight."

"I see. It's odd that you forgot that. Did you look into it?"

"Yeah, of course."

"And?"

"And we couldn't find anyone who saw it. But that don't mean it didn't happen!"

Jacob nodded patronizingly, "No, of course not. It's entirely plausible that Mr. Standish was in a horrifically bloody fight that no one saw on the very night that Henry Erickson was murdered in the bank—"

"Objection!" Harker stood, "We don't know that Henry Erickson was murdered or that he was even in the bank that night."

"Sustained," Judge Travis replied.

"I apologize again," Jacob said. "Tell me, Mr. Larabee, have you seen Henry Erickson since the night of the robbery?"

"No."

"To your knowledge, has anyone else seen Henry Erickson since then?"

"No."

"Have you come across any explanation for the blood you found on the floor of the bank?"

"No!"

"Hm. I wonder what we should make of that."

"It don't mean Ezra killed him."

"So you do think he's dead?"

"Goddammit, quit twisting my words!" Chris growled.

There was a murmur in the crowd and Judge Travis banged the gavel. "Order! Mr. Larabee, please watch your language."

Chris looked over at Harker, who shook his head as if to say, _This isn't helping_. He sat up straighter in the witness chair and forced himself to try to get his temper under control.

Jacob paced for a moment, as if allowing some of the tension in the room to dissipate, then resumed his questioning. "Yet again, I apologize. I understand that Mr. Standish is a fellow lawman, and this is not a pleasant task for you. You've worked with him for some time, correct?"

"Yeah, I have," Chris said.

"Have you ever had cause to question his loyalty?"

"No!" Chris answered vehemently. Jacob pursed his lips slightly and Chris knew he'd walked into a trap.

"Really?" The lawyer strode over to his table and picked up a piece of paper. "Does the name Lucius Stutz mean anything to you?"

Chris glanced over at Vin in surprise; the tracker returned his unasked question with a slight shrug that indicated he also didn't know how Jacob had heard about the incident. Before he could answer, though, Harker interjected.

"Objection; relevance?"

Jacob turned to Judge Travis before he could rule. "Mr. Larabee has stated that Mr. Standish has never given cause to distrust him; I am ascertaining the truth of that statement."

Judge Travis appeared reluctant but said, "Overruled. Proceed."

"Mr. Larabee, please tell us who Lucius Stutz is."

Chris looked to Harker, but the lawyer was now conferring with Ezra. "Stutz was an assassin that was hired to kill Mary Travis."

"And am I correct in understanding that you and your men came across the money that had been used to hire Mr. Stutz?"

"Yeah."

"How much money?"

"Ten thousand." There was another murmur in the crowd; many of them no doubt remembered the chaos that had erupted in town over the money.

"And is it true that Mr. Standish took the ten thousand dollars?"

"Josiah gave it to him for safekeeping," Chris explained.

Jacob consulted his sheet of paper. "That would be Josiah Sanchez, another lawman, correct?" Chris nodded. "And did Mr. Standish attempt to leave town with the money?"

_The best thing you can do for Ezra is just tell the truth_. "Yeah."

"Had Mr. Sanchez told him to leave town with it?"

"Objection; calls for speculation," Harker said.

"Sustained."

Jacob rephrased the question, "To your knowledge, had Mr. Sanchez told him to leave town with it?"

"No, but—"

"Did you know he was planning to leave town with it?"

"No, but—"

"Did you want him to leave town with it?"

"No, but—"

"Were you angry when you found out?"

"At first, but—"

"How about surprised; were you surprised?"

"Not really, but—"

"So it sounds like you _have_ had cause to question his loyalty, haven't you?" Jacob didn't give Chris a chance to answer before saying, "No further questions," and returning to his table.

Chris shifted forward in his chair. "What? Now just hold on—"

"Mr. Larabee, settle down," Judge Travis warned.

Chris sat back but stared at Jacob with the full fury of the fire he felt raging behind his eyes. The lawyer met his gaze with calm indifference. Chris looked over at Ezra and was surprised to find the gambler looking back at him. The ghost of a smile crossed Ezra's face and Chris saw…Sympathy? Regret?...It was fleeting and then it was gone. Ezra went back to studying the tabletop and Chris felt the fire die down as he realized how many nails he'd just put in Ezra's coffin.


	8. Chapter 8

Judge Travis motioned to Harker, who rose and walked over to where Chris sat in the witness chair. "I appreciate you taking the time to be here today, Mr. Larabee," he said kindly.

"'Least I could do," Chris muttered, still smarting from Jacob's questions.

"Why's that?"

"Ezra's a good man; he didn't rob the bank and he certainly didn't kill nobody."

"Well, now, I agree with you on that last part, but let's face it, he's a known gambler and con artist. Do you really consider those the occupations of a 'good man'?"

"Ain't no secret that Ezra's a good poker player," Chris said adamantly, surprised that Harker would ask such a question. "Anyone agrees to play against him knows what they're getting into. And there's been plenty of times when his tricks have come in handy to help us do our jobs."

"Ah, yes, that's right; Ezra is paid to help protect this town."

"Yep."

"Do you ever regret that you have to work with him?"

"No, never."

"Would you consider him a friend?"

"Yes," Chris said firmly.

"Would you lie here today to protect him?"

Again, Chris was surprised at the question. "No, of course not."

"Why not?"

"I'm part of the law; wouldn't make much sense asking people to trust me if I don't tell the truth."

"That's a good point. I guess that's why you admitted that Ezra was going to leave town with the ten thousand dollars."

"Like I said, it was the truth." _And it's not like people didn't already know, or Jacob wouldn't have heard about it…_

Harker nodded sympathetically, as though he didn't actually believe what Chris had said, then headed back towards his table. "Well, it's lucky you all got him back."

The question seemed to have come as an afterthought and it threw Chris. "Excuse me?"

Harker turned back to Chris. "You and the others, you rode after Ezra and brought him back."

Chris shook his head. "No; he came back on his own."

"Oh, of course. You had put a price on his head."

"No! He just came back. In fact, he didn't even actually leave."

Harker blinked in confusion. "I'm sorry; I don't seem to be understanding you. If you didn't force Ezra to come back and you didn't put a price on his head, why didn't he leave?"

Chris glanced at the jury and saw that they were hanging on Harker's every word, as though this were all a dime novel come to life. Suddenly he understood what Harker was doing, coaching Chris through the narration to keep the jury riveted. Chris sat up a little straighter, determined to do his part well. "Ezra came back to warn Mary and stop Stutz. He took a bullet for it, too." A few of the jury members nodded; they had probably been there.

Harker was facing the jury now. "Let me see if I have this straight: Ezra could have left town with ten thousand dollars but instead came back to save a local woman?"

"Yes."

"Is Mr. Standish especially well acquainted with Mrs. Travis?"

"They know each other in passing."

"And yet he put Mrs. Travis's life ahead of the money?"

"Yes. Yes, he did." Chris felt a swell of pride for Ezra, the same pride he'd felt that day when Ezra had almost died for Mary. And for the first time in over a week, Chris felt a tiny surge of hope that maybe Harker could pull this off.


	9. Chapter 9

"Inez sure looks pretty up there, don't she?" Buck gazed appreciatively at the woman now sitting in the witness chair.

"For God's sake, Buck, Ezra's life is at stake here," Chris admonished.

"I'm just trying to focus on the silver lining, that's all."

"Tell me, Buck," Vin said, "why is it that your 'silver lining' is always wearing a dress?"

Buck grinned but didn't have a chance to reply as Trevor Jacob asked his next question.

"So you delivered numerous drinks to the table over several hours, and had the table in your view from the bar throughout the night?"

"Yes."

"In all that time, did you see or hear any disturbance?"

"Disturbance?" Inez asked.

"Yes, were there any arguments over the game? Did a fight break out at any time?"

"No, none."

"Are you aware that Mr. Standish has claimed he was in a fight that night?"

Inez nodded.

"But you didn't witness it?"

"I just told you I didn't see a fight. Why are you asking questions if you aren't going to listen to the answers?"

There were several snickers in the crowd and Buck smiled as he leaned over to Chris, Vin and JD and whispered, "She sure is a spitfire, ain't she?"

Jacob took the response in stride. "Fair enough, Ms. Recillos. Now, you said earlier that Henry Erickson was one of the players; was he there all night?"

"No, he left just after midnight."

"How can you be sure what time it was?"

"I had just looked at the clock because I was thinking that card games don't usually go so late on a Sunday night. Then I heard a bunch of people laugh all at once and when I looked over at Ezra's table, Henry was getting up to leave."

"About what time did the game finally end?"

"I'm not sure; maybe half an hour later."

"Did everyone leave at that time?"

"No, Ezra stayed behind and started playing solitaire."

"Did you speak to him?"

"Just to offer him another drink, but he said he would be going soon."

"And did he?"

"Yes…" Inez trailed off, looking again at Ezra as she did so.

Jacob didn't miss the hesitation. "What is it, Ms. Recillos? Did something unusual happen?"

"No, not really," Inez replied, "It's just that…Henry came back in."

"Oh, I see," Jacob said, giving the jury a pointed look. "What did Mr. Erickson say?"

"I don't know; I was behind the bar by then. I just saw him go over to Ezra and…" Inez stopped, her hands twisting in her lap.

"Please continue, Ms. Recillos," Jacob said.

"I…saw Ezra give Henry a handful of money. They talked for a few minutes and then they left."

It seemed to Chris that the room had managed to become quiet and loud at the same time. Everyone was focused on Inez, wondering what the exchange had meant.

"Let me make sure I understand you, Ms. Recillos," Jacob said slowly. "After everyone had left, Mr. Erickson returned, at which time Mr. Standish…paid him?"

"Yes, I guess so…"

"And then they left together?"

"Yes."

"Did you see either of them again that night?"

"No."

"Have you seen or heard from Henry Erickson since that night?"

Inez shook her head sadly. "No. But—"

"Thank you, Ms. Recillos. Nothing further."

"I hate when he does that," Buck muttered.

"Yeah?" Chris said, "Try being on the receiving end. Wonder what that's about." He motioned towards the defense table, where Harker was whispering something to Ezra, who just shook his head. Harker said something else and Ezra replied, but it didn't seem to be what Harker wanted to hear.

"Mr. Harker?" Judge Travis prompted.

Harker started to say something else to Ezra, then stood to address the saloonkeeper instead. "Good afternoon, ma'am," he said genially, and Inez gave him a warm smile in return. Chris smiled to himself, seeing the obvious change in her demeanor towards Harker versus towards Jacob. She may have had to answer the prosecution's questions, but clearly she was on the side of the defense.

"Now, ah…you said that you saw Mr. Standish give Mr. Erickson some money. Was there…ah…" he fumbled a bit for a question and Chris realized he had been caught completely off guard by Inez's testimony. "What I mean is, could you tell how much it was?"

"No, it was too dim."

"I see. And you didn't hear what they said to each other?"

"No."

"So…is it possible that Mr. Standish had lost to Mr. Erickson earlier in the evening and was paying him at that moment?"

From the expression on Inez's face, Chris knew she was thinking the same thing he was: Was it possible that an inexperienced kid beat the best poker player in town so thoroughly that he couldn't pay up right away? No, not remotely. However, she managed to give a somewhat convincing nod and say, "Certainly."

"Good…good… ah…You said that you didn't see Mr. Standish return; since he has a room upstairs, is that odd?"

"Not at all. He could easily have come in while I was in the back."

"Thank you, Ms. Recillos." Harker returned to his table.

"Call your next witness, Mr. Jacob," Judge Travis instructed.

Jacob stood, "Your Honor, my next witness works at the Five Bar Ranch and won't be available until tomorrow afternoon."

"Very well," Judge Travis replied, "We're adjourned until tomorrow afternoon."

Buck and Vin escorted Ezra out of the Grain Exchange and towards the jail, while Chris and JD walked with Harker towards his hotel.

"So what do you think?" JD asked Harker nervously, "Is it going okay?"

Harker didn't answer for several moments, then finally shrugged. "It's the first day, son. It's going as well as could be expected."

"Oh," JD said, disappointed. "Well, is there anything we can do?"

Harker smiled thinly. "Tomorrow's Sunday; you can go to church and pray."

JD looked stricken at the comment and abruptly turned off into the saloon. Chris watched the younger man shove through the batwing doors. "Didn't take you for the sarcastic type, Harker," he said.

Harker sighed and faced the gunslinger. "I wasn't being sarcastic."


	10. Chapter 10

"That was not exactly your best opening today, Gideon." Judge Travis motioned for a waiter as he pulled out a chair at Harker's table and sat down.

Harker gave his long-time friend a rueful smile. "I'd like to argue that point with you, but clearly I'd lose." He took a bite of steak while Travis placed his own order, then added, "Trevor's always been good at digging up the dirt, then using the shovel to stir the pot."

"He certainly used it to his advantage today," Travis agreed.

"He's got a natural talent for the business; I usually enjoy watching him work."

"When you're not up against him."

"Indeed. Has he ever lost a case?"

"He lost his first case due to shoddy preparation, if you can believe it. He swore never to do so again, and he's been successful so far," Travis said with admiration.

"Well, he's only been at it for, what, seven years? Give him another few decades and I'm sure that record will even out," Harker said with a laugh.

They sat in companionable silence for a few minutes, Harker eating his dinner and Travis sipping at his drink. Finally, Harker said quietly, "I know what you'd like to be able to ask, and I know that you can't—"

"And you couldn't answer anyway," Travis interrupted.

"True. I'll tell you this, if you hadn't vouched for him, I wouldn't still be here."

Travis sat back in his chair. "I see."

"Look, Orrin, Trevor's got a hell of a case, with an extremely motivated client."

"I realize the evidence is on his side, but you've got a highly motivated client too…" Travis trailed off at the negative expression on Harker's face. "I take it that's why you didn't speak to Ms. Recillos before today?" Harker didn't say anything, which in this case was a clear "yes." Judge Travis badly wanted to inquire further, but they were dancing too close to the legal boundaries already. Finally he just said, "I'm afraid I don't know what to make of that."

"Well then, you see my problem."


	11. Chapter 11

"Brought you dinner." Chris held out the plate of stew, but Ezra waved it away.

"Vin was kind enough to provide sustenance earlier."

"You and your big words." Chris sat down at the desk and dug into the food himself, suddenly realizing that he hadn't eaten since morning. "Be nice if you threw some of those big words Harker's way."

Stretched out on his cot, Ezra lazily tossed a playing card into his hat on the floor. "I thought Mr. Harker did an admirable job today. I have no complaints; why should you?"

"The question is whether Harker should have any complaints," Chris replied.

"I'm afraid I don't follow."

"It was obvious you hadn't told him about giving money to Henry. It looked bad."

"It all 'looks bad,' Chris; I believe that's why I'm in here."

Chris sighed and pushed the plate away. "Jesus, Ezra…it's bad enough you won't tell any of us what happened, but I would've thought you'd tell your damn lawyer."

"I've told you everything I have to tell—"

"You haven't told us anything! You were playing cards—except that Inez saw you leave. Then you got in fight, only no one saw it. And remind me, what happened to your ring?"

"I sold it."

"You sold it. But you just can't seem to remember who you sold it to. Hey, maybe you pawned it to Henry and were paying to get it back that night," Chris said sarcastically.

"I'm quite certain Henry couldn't afford it," Ezra replied calmly.

Chris stared at Ezra for several moments, waiting for something further, but the gambler continued expertly flipping cards into the hat. "I don't get you, Ezra." No response. Chris couldn't help himself, he just wanted a reaction: "Did you do it? Did you kill Henry?"

The next card flew wide of the hat and landed in the adjacent cell. Ezra set the rest of the deck down on the cot next to him; Chris wasn't sure, but he thought the gambler's hand shook ever so slightly. Ezra rubbed his eyes, then laced his hands behind his head and said quietly, "I believe JD will be here any moment. There's really no need for you to stay."

Without another word, Chris walked out of the jail, slamming the door behind him.


	12. Chapter 12

"Please state your name and occupation."

"Michael – Mike – McKee. I'm—

"Please speak up, sir, so the jury can hear you."

McKee cleared his throat and raised his voice. "Mike McKee. I'm the Foreman at the Five Bar Ranch."

Chris felt a twinge of sympathy for McKee. The gunslinger had sat in on many poker games with both McKee and Ezra, and knew the rancher to be a soft-spoken man; sociable but never one to speak much. It was obvious that he was uncomfortable in front of such a large audience, but he was well-liked out at the Five Bar and known in town as a good man; Chris was certain that his testimony would carry a lot of weight with the jury.

"And do you know the defendant, Ezra Standish?"

McKee nodded.

"I need you to answer aloud, please," Jacob said, not unkindly.

"Oh, sorry. Yes, I know him; we've played poker lots of times."

"Did you play poker with Mr. Standish here in town on the night of the ninth?"

"Yes."

"Who else was playing with you that night?" Jacob asked.

McKee thought for a moment. "Uh…there was me, Bob Jenkins, Jeff Peterson, and Jerry Wilde. We work together."

"Anyone else?" Jacob prompted.

"Oh, and Henry Erickson, from the bank. He played for part of the night too."

"Did you know Mr. Erickson very well?"

"Not really. He played in lots of games when I was playing but we didn't talk much. Seemed like a good kid."

"When did Mr. Erickson join the game that night?"

"Well, actually, he and Ezra were playing when we got there. When we joined, he sat out and watched for a while, then joined in later; kinda did that the whole night."

"Was that unusual?" Jacob asked.

"No, he did that a lot in the games I was in. I think he was trying to hang onto his money for as long as he could."

"So he wasn't a very good player?"

"No, but he'd only been playing a few months though. He was getting a lot better. Actually, he won several hands that night; he was way ahead."

"We've heard testimony that Mr. Standish paid Mr. Erickson an unknown amount of money some time after the game had ended; was that because Mr. Erickson had won so much?"

"No, that can't be," McKee replied, clearly confused. "Henry lost."

"He lost? Everything?"

"Yeah, stupid…" McKee smiled, a little sadly. "Tried to bluff on a nothing hand; Ezra cleaned him out."

Chris glanced at the jury and saw several of them look over at Ezra with disgust. _Honestly_, he thought, _it was a poker game; people lose in poker games_.

Jacob nodded thoughtfully and paced a few steps before asking his next question. "You are aware that Mr. Erickson has been missing since that night, are you not?"

"Yes."

"Now this may seem like an odd question, Mr. McKee, but I called you here today to ask whether you happen to recall what Mr. Standish was wearing that night?"

The foreman rubbed his chin in thought. "I'm pretty sure he was wearing a red coat," he replied.

Jacob walked to the evidence table and held up the blood-stained article. "This coat?"

McKee recoiled slightly at the sight and looked at Ezra in shock, then back at Jacob. "Uh…yeah…I think so. It was…cleaner." His voice trailed off on the last word and Chris could thought he looked a little nauseated. Chris couldn't blame him.

"You're doing fine, sir," Jacob said reassuringly. He laid the coat down then picked up the ruby ring and brought it over towards McKee. "I also need to ask, have you seen this ring before?"

McKee nodded, then remembered to answer aloud. "Yes. It's Ezra's."

"Are you aware that this ring was found in the bank the morning after the robbery?"

McKee sat back and crossed his arms with a sigh, shaking his head as he glanced at Ezra again. "No, I wasn't."

"Do you remember whether Mr. Standish was wearing it on the night of the ninth?"

"Yes, he was," McKee answered immediately.

Even from across the room, Chris could tell that Jacob was pleasantly surprised by the answer. He had apparently taken a chance in calling McKee to testify, and it was paying off.

"You seem very sure of that. How can you be certain?"

"That hand—the hand where Henry bet all his money on a bluff—Ezra was short, so he put up that ring as collateral. And he won."

"How did Mr. Erickson take it?"

"Pretty well, really. I mean, he was upset of course, but he lost; those are the breaks, right? Those are the…oh God, you didn't kill him did you? Tell me you didn't!" McKee spoke directly to Ezra, who stared back at the foreman with wide eyes.

"Order!" Judge Travis smacked the gavel down, and McKee startled back in his chair. "Mr. McKee, you will not address the defendant, do you understand? You will speak to Mr. Jacob or to me."

McKee nodded and ran a hand across his brow. Jacob gave him a moment to collect himself, then said, "I'm sorry, Mr. McKee; I know this is upsetting—"

"That's not it!" McKee interrupted. "It's what he said, what Ezra said…" he shook his head again, and Chris thought he might have tears in his eyes as he recounted the end of the hand.

* * *

><p>"<em>Three of a kind?" Ezra shook his head, bemused. "A word to the wise, Mr. Erickson; if you're going to stake all your money on a single hand, it needs to be stronger than that, because bluffing is most definitely not your strong suit. My strong suit, on the other hand, is diamonds," as he spoke, he laid the flush out one card at a time, "and as you can see, I have quite a lot of them." <em>

_McKee and his fellow ranch hands burst out laughing at the expression on Henry's face. He'd sold the bluff well enough that the Five Bar players had all folded; unfortunately, Ezra hadn't bought it. _

_Ezra reached for the pot and Henry stood to leave, but suddenly turned back. "You cheated," he said quietly but forcefully. "You had to have cheated, I know you did."_

_Ezra froze in mid-rake, then sat back and said evenly, "You've had a lot to drink tonight, Mr. Erickson. I don't believe you're thinking clearly."_

"_Dammit, I had that hand," Henry insisted._

"_No. You didn't. You lost."_

_Henry stood fuming for several seconds, then finally said, "I can't believe you'd do this."_

_Ezra rose so rapidly his chair rocked back and he stood with his face inches from Henry's. McKee had never seen the gambler truly angry, but this seemed to be close. "Go home Henry, before this gets ugly. We'll settle up later."_

* * *

><p>"Mr. Erickson left?"<p>

"Yes."

"And Mr. Standish had Mr. Erickson's money, is that correct?"

"Yes."

"Then what did you think he meant by 'We'll settle up later'?" Jacob asked.

McKee spread his hands in doubt. "I didn't think anything of it at the time."

"And now?"

"Now I wonder if…" he looked over at Ezra again, but the gambler was conferring with Harker. McKee didn't finish the sentence.

"I think it's very clear what you wondered, Mr. McKee. I think we're all wondering it as well. Nothing further."


	13. Chapter 13

McKee's testimony seemed to have rattled many of the people in the makeshift courtroom, including some of the jury members, so Chris was hardly surprised when Harker asked for a brief recess.

"Very well," Judge Travis replied. "We're adjourned for half an hour."

Buck and JD stayed at the Grain Exchange while Chris and Vin followed Harker and Ezra across the street to the jail. At the door, Harker asked for privacy to speak to his client, but Ezra said, "No, they're welcome to join us. Besides, Mr. Larabee can hardly think any worse of me than he does already."

Vin shot a questioning look at Chris, who rolled his eyes in return. "Whaddaya expect, Ezra?" Chris said. "You ain't exactly doing anything to help yourself here."

Ezra just shrugged and sat down, then put his head in his hands with a sigh and stayed like that as everyone sat down nearby. Chris noticed a few curious townsfolk loitering outside. One peeked in the window and Chris half-rose out of his chair; the man got the picture and left.

Harker finally broke the silence. "I'd really like to not keep being surprised in there. We knew Trevor was probably calling Mr. McKee to ask about the coat and the ring, but you never mentioned an altercation with Mr. Erickson."

"It was hardly an 'altercation,'" Ezra said, lifting his head tiredly. "Henry was upset at losing and I asked him to leave. Mr. Jacob may have made it sound sinister, but there was nothing else to it."

"It makes it appear that you had a reason to be angry at Mr. Erickson, maybe even angry enough to kill him," Harker explained.

Ezra laughed softly. "If I killed everyone who accused me of cheating, I'd have more blood on my hands than Ivan the Terrible. It happens quite often, I'm afraid; it comes with winning so much."

"You played cards with Henry a lot, Ezra," Vin noted. "I never seen him accuse you of cheating before."

"Probably because I'd never cheated him before," Ezra replied.

Harker leaned back and ran a hand through his hair while Vin and Chris both stood with sounds of irritation. "Goddammit, Ezra," Chris said, "are you saying you did cheat Henry?"

"I had to," Ezra started, then raised a hand to stop the angry replies from both Chris and Vin. "He cheated himself; he palmed a card—and not very well, I might add. I find it incomprehensible that no one else caught it. I couldn't allow him to take the pot after that."

The other three men digested the explanation for a few moments, then Chris asked, "So what did you mean when you said you'd 'settle up later'?"

"I didn't mean anything by it; it's just something you say."

"But you did give him money later," Vin pointed out. "What was that about?"

Ezra rose and walked towards the cells, his back to the others. It began to appear that he wouldn't answer but he finally said, "I suppose I felt badly about cleaning him out like that…but that doesn't really sound like me, does it?" He glanced back at Vin with a wry smile and must have seen the thought reflected on the tracker's face because he gave a little nod and sat down with his head in his hands again. "It doesn't matter anyway, does it Mr. Harker?" he muttered.

Chris and Vin looked to the defense lawyer. "You said that none of the Five Bar players knew Mr. Erickson had cheated? And you didn't tell them?" Harker asked.

"No and no."

Harker shook his head dejectedly. "Then no, there's nothing I can ask Mr. McKee on cross that will help."

The front door opened and Buck leaned in. "Time's almost up; y'all better be getting on back."

Vin and Harker walked out while Chris waited for Ezra to go ahead of him. As the gambler rose slowly from his chair, he said, "Well, look on the bright side, Chris; when I'm gone, the rest of you can split my ridiculously high salary."

Ezra was on the floor, wiping blood from his split lip, before Chris even realized he'd thrown a punch.


	14. Chapter 14

_It was a perfect morning... _Chris surveyed the street, remembering that he'd stood here only a week ago, thinking that very thought, before everything went to hell. This morning was equally sunny, but the heat was already becoming oppressive and the activity along the boardwalk seemed furtive. There was a pall over everything and everyone, and he didn't like it one bit.

He growled something at someone and Buck gave him a light shove. "Simmer down, Chris; it ain't Yosemite's fault the trial's going downhill."

Chris gave an apologetic wave at the blacksmith as he and Buck continued toward the Grain Exchange. "No, it's Ezra's." He sighed and added, "Mine too now, I guess."

"Yeah, I didn't want to ask yesterday but I figured that lip was your doing," Buck said with a grin, then his expression sobered. "And yeah, I'm sure the jury noticed."

"And they had to wonder what happened. It's one more count against him."

"At least they didn't get to wonder about it for long, seeing as how Harker didn't ask anything. So…what did happen?"

"Ah, nothing," Chris said, but Buck gave him an 'I don't buy it' look until he continued. "He made a stupid joke; pissed me off."

"Ya slugged him 'cause of a joke?"

"Dammit, it just seems like he don't care what happens, when we're all doing our damndest to help. And the truth is…" Chris stopped; they weren't far from the makeshift courtroom and there were plenty of people about. He waited until they had a clear space before adding, "All that evidence, Buck, and there's no other explanation…"

Buck grabbed Chris's arm and hauled him towards a nearby alley. "You gotta be kidding me. How can you say that? You don't honestly think Ezra would do something like that, do you?"

"No—hell no! But I don't understand why he ain't telling anybody any different. He _looks_ guilty; what do you think the jury's gonna think?"

"Even more reason we gotta stand by him; show them folks in there that he's worth believing in. Look, Bannister's testifying today and I'm guessing it ain't gonna be good. You need to get your head on straight before you go in there."

After several moments, Chris nodded, but as Buck turned to go, he felt compelled to ask, "How did you do it?"

Buck turned back, his brow knit in confusion. "Do what?"

"With me. After Sarah and Adam."

"Aw, come on—"

"Seriously, tell me. How—why—did you stick by me when I was a mean, selfish, sonuvabitch who treated you like shit?"

"Because somewhere behind that mean, selfish, sonuvabitch was my friend, Chris Larabee. And I knew he was worth it. I know we ain't seein' the best of Ezra right now, but that don't mean he ain't in there."

"It's really that easy for you?"

Buck laughed. "Is that your problem?" He shook his head and put a hand on Chris's shoulder. "You know, I'm always glad to do what I can to help the people I care about. But I sure as hell never said it was easy."

Chris felt some of the tension drain out of him at that simple admission. Ezra's trial was a struggle for all of them; Chris had been looking for a clear enemy to fight, not realizing that the only enemy was his own powerlessness to help. It was odd: he could do no more now than he could a minute ago, but it didn't seem quite so unbearable now that he knew Buck felt the same—that they probably all did.

He gave Buck a nod of thanks and they made their way into the Grain Exchange and took their customary seats back between both Ezra's table and the jury. A few minutes later, Harker and Ezra came in and sat down. It seemed to Chris that Ezra was moving even slower than usual, and he sat down with a sigh, as he had the night before in the jail, immediately putting his head in his hands.

"Ezra looks tired," Chris commented.

"Or like someone who got punched yesterday," Buck teased gently.

Vin and JD sat down in time to catch the comment. "Yeah, Harker wasn't too happy about that," Vin said. "I don't think he's gonna let you talk to Ezra anymore."

Buck snorted. "I don't think Ezra's gonna let you talk to Ezra anymore."

"All right, I get it, enough already. They're starting."

Trevor Jacob, impeccably dressed as always, stood and called the bank manager. As Preston Bannister walked to the chair and sat down, Buck muttered, "I swear, if that man's nose was any farther in the air, he'd have birds landing on it." JD snickered, then covered it with a cough as Vin shushed him.

"Please state your name and occupation."

"I am Preston Bannister and I am the manager of the First National Bank here in Four Corners. I discovered the robbery and I discovered Mr. Standish's ring—"

Jacob put up a hand. "Thank you, Mr. Bannister; let's not get ahead of ourselves." Bannister nodded nervously, clutching his hat tightly in his hands. "How long have you been the bank manager here in Four Corners?"

"A little over three months. I moved out here from St. Louis."

"Was this your first time working as a manager?"

"Oh no; I was a manager at two other banks out east."

"And what brought you to Four Corners?"

"Well, actually, I thought I was moving to Denver; I was told I would be managing a bank there. But when I got there, I was told there had been a mistake and I was to be the manager here." He gave the jury a condescending smile. "And it's just a lovely little town."

"Altogether, how much experience do you have as a bank manager?" Jacob asked.

"About seven years, I think," Bannister said proudly.

"So would it be accurate to say you're very familiar with all the rules and regulations for managing the money in your care?"

"Absolutely."

"And what is the procedure when you're holding an unusually large sum of money, such as the payroll for the Western Sky Mining Company?"

"We notify the local authorities and arrange for additional security."

"Did you do that in this case?"

"Yes I did, I notified Mr. Standish." Bannister pointed emphatically toward Ezra, and Jacob motioned subtly for him to lower his hand. Bannister flushed but continued. "I told him that the payroll would be delivered on Saturday and would be picked up the following Monday."

"What did Mr. Standish say to that?"

"He said that he would take care of it; he said to leave everything to him."

"Did you have any reason to think he wouldn't tell the other lawmen?"

"None at all. I mean, he's paid to protect this town. I expected him to do his job, not rob the bank!"

"Objection; conclusion." Harker called out.

"Sustained. Mr. Bannister, the jury will determine whether Mr. Standish is guilty, not you."

"Hmph. Serves the prissy bastard right," Buck said quietly. JD snickered again.

"Now, since you have already alluded to the morning of the tenth, please go ahead and tell us what happened that morning."

"Well, I went into the bank early, as I always do on Monday mornings, and when I walked in, it was a terrible mess. There were papers everywhere, and the safe was standing wide open. I immediately checked to see if the payroll was gone and, of course, it was. I was absolutely beside myself. I went outside and saw Mr. Larabee and Mr. Tanner across the street; they came over and I told them what had happened. When I mentioned the payroll, it was clear that they knew nothing about it, but I told them I had told Mr. Standish so they went to question him."

"And you stayed at the bank?"

"Yes. I wasn't sure what to do, so I started tidying up a bit, and that's when I found the ring on the floor. I don't recall where, exactly—"

"That's fine, Mr. Bannister," Jacob said reassuringly. "What did you do next?"

"Well, I was sure I had seen Mr. Standish wearing it; it's rather distinctive. So I took it over to the saloon, and Mr. Larabee recognized it immediately. Then he, Mr. Tanner, Mr. Dunne and Mr. Wilmington went and searched Mr. Standish's room and found those bloody clothes."

"Did Mr. Standish offer any explanation at that time?"

"No he did not."

"Now, I must ask you about your employee, Henry Erickson."

Bannister took a deep breath and nodded. "Yes, a fine young man. It's…it's such a shame."

"How long had he worked for you?"

"Well, he was already working there when I started. He had been there for about six months at that time, I believe."

"So he'd worked there for approximately nine months in total then?"

"Yes, that sounds right."

"Ever had any difficulty with him?"

"No, he was an excellent employee." Bannister shrugged slightly. "Of course, he was late every now and then, and wasn't always as diligent in his work as I might have liked, but he was young, after all."

"Indeed, I'm sure that's to be expected. Did he know that the payroll would be on the premises for those few days?"

"Yes, all my employees did. We're a very small staff in a very small bank; it would be hard for them not to know. We all share in responsibility for keeping the bank secure."

"Would he have had any reason to be in there on that Sunday night?"

"I'm afraid not." Bannister looked at Ezra and added, "But he would have been easy prey for a con artist—"

Sensing an objection from Harker, Jacob raised a hand each towards Bannister and the defense lawyer. "Thank you, that will do, Mr. Bannister." As he returned to his table, Chris could see the hint of a smirk on his face. "That will do quite nicely."


	15. Chapter 15

Judge Travis motioned to Harker. "Your witness, Mr. Harker."

Bannister shifted slightly in his seat, curling the edges of his hat in his lap as Harker approached. Harker smiled reassuringly, glanced back at Ezra, then faced Bannister again. "You don't like my client very much, do you Mr. Bannister?"

"No sir, I do not," Bannister replied stiffly.

Harker nodded. "I appreciate your honesty, sir. Could you elaborate a bit though?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"Could you tell us what, exactly, you don't like about Mr. Standish?" Bannister stared at Harker blankly, so the lawyer coaxed him further. "What made you dislike him to begin with? Did he hit you? Kick your dog? What?"

"He robbed my bank!"

Several chuckles burst out, and Harker ruefully laughed along. "Oh, well now, we haven't proven that. Why didn't you like him before all this?"

"He's a con man. Everyone knows it," Bannister said, looking around the room for support and apparently finding it, as he continued. "He gambles every night, cheating all manner of decent folk out of their money; I've seen it with my own eyes."

Harker's eyebrows raised in surprise. "You've seen him cheat at cards?"

"Well, no, of course not; I rarely go into the saloon. But I've seen him playing cards and I know he wins a lot; I hear about it. It's far too often for chance."

Chris glanced around the room and saw a few heads nodding. He thought back to what Ezra had said the night before: _"If I killed everyone who accused me of cheating, I'd have more blood on my hands than Ivan the Terrible. It happens quite often, I'm afraid; it comes with winning so much."_ It had sounded so cavalier…but now, seeing Ezra sitting hunched at the table, he had to wonder if the frequent accusation had a greater impact than Chris had realized.

"Perhaps he's just a better player?" Harker suggested.

"If you say so." Bannister sat back and crossed his arms, his hat forgotten in his lap.

"I'm sorry," Harker apologized, "I certainly don't mean to put you on the spot here. Let's move along. Tell me about the other six men." Once again, Bannister stared blankly. "What do you think of the other six men who protect the town? Say, Mr. Larabee over there."

Bannister picked his hat up and began twisting it again as he looked over at the gunslinger. "Well now, I like him just fine. He's done quite a fine job here."

"Yes indeed. What about Mr. Wilmington?" Harker asked.

"Mr. Wilmington?"

"What do you think of him?"

"He does a good job too. People seem to like him."

"I hear he has quite a way with the ladies," Harker whispered loudly, eliciting more chuckles from the packed room, including from Buck.

Bannister blushed and stammered, "Yes, well, his morals may be a little…loose…at times, but he's otherwise an excellent lawman."

"And how about Mr. Dunne?"

Jacob stood up before Bannister could answer. "Objection, Your Honor. Is there any point to this line of questioning?"

Judge Travis looked inquiringly at Harker, who raised his hands in mock surrender. "I'm just trying to ascertain whether Mr. Bannister had an issue with any of the other six lawmen, Your Honor."

Travis turned his gaze to Bannister. "Well, Mr. Bannister?"

"No, Judge. I do not."

"There you are, Mr. Harker," Judge Travis said. "Are you satisfied?"

"Yes, quite." Harker turned back to Bannister. "So, of the seven men paid to protect this town, Mr. Standish is the only one you take issue with?"

Bannister nodded emphatically. "That is correct. And clearly, I was right."

"Perhaps…" Harker rubbed his chin as though deep in thought, then sighed loudly. "But I guess I'm a little confused here. If you distrust Ezra Standish so—" he moved closer to Bannister then motioned towards the gambler, "Then why is it that he was the only one you told about the payroll in your bank?"

A murmur swept through the crowd and Bannister's face flushed red. He stammered for a moment then fell silent.

"Well, sir?" Harker pressed. "Why did you tell Ezra about the payroll?"

"I…I thought he would tell the others, of course." Bannister finally replied.

"So you trusted him to carry the information to the rest of his colleagues, not use it for his own gain?"

"Y-yes."

"You trusted him."

"At…at that moment, yes…"

"That seems like a strange moment to suddenly decide to trust the one lawman in town that you profess to despise, don't you think?"

"I…"

"Or maybe you never told him at all, is that possible?"

"Wha…what?"

"Maybe you forgot to tell anyone about the payroll. Maybe you thought that if no one knew it was there, you wouldn't have to worry about anyone trying to steal it, how about that?"

"No…"

Harker moved closer to Bannister, looming over him, "But you realized your mistake after the bank was robbed, didn't you, Mr. Bannister? And you decided to make up a story to cover your own incompetence, by pointing your finger at the one person who you admit that you can't stand, isn't that the truth?"

"Objection!" Jacob proclaimed loudly, "He's badgering the witness!"

"Overruled." Judge Travis turned his steely gaze on Bannister, "Answer the question."

Bannister looked from Travis to Jacob to Harker, his hat now hopelessly crushed in his rigid hands. His mouth opened and closed, but no sound came out.

Harker waited a moment, then waved a hand in disgust. "That's okay, Mr. Bannister. I think you've said quite enough already."


	16. Chapter 16

Judge Travis called for a recess; Chris guessed it was as much because of the heat in the crowded room as it was to release some of the tension from Harker's cross-examination. The majority of the people walked outside to get some air.

"I'll stay here if you don't mind," Ezra drawled tiredly as Harker stood to step outside as well.

"You okay, Ezra?" JD asked.

"I'm fine. But I didn't sleep well, I'm afraid, and communing with the beleaguering masses will only further impair my cognizance."

JD gave him a blank stare. "He means he feels like shit," Buck explained genially.

"Oh, got it." JD smiled and clapped Ezra on the shoulder before following Chris and Harker outside, while Buck and Vin stayed with Ezra.

JD caught up to where Chris stood talking with the defense lawyer. He could barely wait for a break in the conversation before he blurted, "That was amazing, Mr. Harker, what you did in there. I ain't never seen lawyerin' like that."

Harker chuckled. "Well, thank you, young man. That's kind of you to say."

"It's the truth! You proved Ezra's innocent!" JD laughed but was dismayed to see the older man's smile fade rapidly.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Dunne, but I've done nothing of the sort," Harker said gently.

"What do you mean? Obviously Bannister lied about telling Ezra about the payroll! So he didn't rob the bank!"

"Those are some impressive leaps in logic you're making there; I'm sure your friend would appreciate it. But the truth is, all I proved for certain is that Preston Bannister made a serious error in judgment at some point; an error he doesn't want to admit."

"An error in judgment?"

"As you said, he may have—_may_ have—lied about having told Ezra there was a payroll in his bank. But he may also have simply realized that it was his own fault for giving information to the wrong person and he doesn't want that responsibility to fall on him."

"Oh." JD's shoulders slumped, all the enthusiasm suddenly drained. "Then what was the point of all that anyway?"

"Part of the game, son. I'm hoping the jury will make some of the same leaps you did, or at least feel unsettled, like they're not getting the whole story. It's what creates that 'reasonable doubt' we're looking for so they won't convict."

"But…but Ezra's innocent. That's why they shouldn't convict him," JD insisted.

"Son…JD…I'm here to defend Mr. Standish, and I'll do everything I can to get him acquitted, but the fact is, there is a lot of evidence against him. A _lot_ of evidence. His ring was found in the bank. There was blood on his clothes that he won't explain. He's also failed to account for his whereabouts during the robbery. And, of course, no one knows what happened to Henry Erickson." He placed a hand on JD's shoulder and forced the younger man to meet his gaze. "You need to prepare yourself for the possibility that this won't end in his favor."

"Well…surely Ezra will be able to explain things when he gets up and tells his side," JD said hopefully.

Chris had been hoping the same thing for days, so it was a surprise when Harker gave them both a solemn shake of the head.

"What?" Chris asked, incredulous. "He has to!"

Harker smiled regretfully. "No, he doesn't, nor does he wish to. And with the information I have right now, I have to agree with that decision."

"Why? You been talking to him for days; what the hell has he told you?"

"I'm sorry, I can't tell you that; it's confidential. Oh, don't give me that look, Mr. Larabee; those are the rules and I won't be intimidated into breaking them."

He said it so simply, so off-handedly, that Chris almost smiled. More and more, he could see why Harker and Judge Travis were friends.

"I'll say this," Harker relented, then paused to choose his words, "I believe that you believe he's innocent. And from what Orrin and the rest of you have told me, this sounds very out of character for Mr. Standish, despite his checkered past. I will even say that in my conversations with him, Mr. Standish just doesn't strike me as the kind of cold-blooded person who could have done what he's accused of." He paused again and gave an irritated sigh.

"But?" Chris pressed.

"But it would be very helpful if our conversations included more conversation on his part. I would like to be able to put him on the stand in his own defense but, right now, I have no reason to believe it would be beneficial to the case."

Chris heard a whistle and looked up to see Vin motioning them back into the Grain Exchange.

As they headed back inside, JD tried to lighten the mood. "I guess the good news is it can't get any worse, right?"

Harker gave him a sideways glance. "I've been doing this a long time, JD, and if there's one thing I can tell you for certain, it's this: Things can always get worse."


	17. Chapter 17

"Poor Nora," Buck said, watching the middle-aged woman dab at her eyes again. "She's been so shook up since the robbery."

"I'm sure having to help clean up the bank didn't help," Vin said disgustedly. "Bannister sure is a piece of work."

"How long had you worked with Mr. Erickson, Mrs. O'Neill?" Jacob asked.

"The whole time he was there; about nine months, I guess," she replied in her gentle lilt. "I was actually the one who trained him. He was a fast learner."

"Did you know him very well?"

"As well as anyone, I suppose. We'd chat off and on throughout the day. He told me a bit about his family, out near Lincoln, Nebraska. He sent part of his paycheck home every week."

"Well now, that sounds like a fine thing for a son to do," Jacob said, eliciting a teary smile from his witness. "I don't want to drag this out for you, my dear, so let's talk about the morning of the tenth. Did you go into the bank that day?"

"Yes." Nora took a deep breath, as though steeling herself for the questions ahead.

"And what did you find when you got to work?"

"Well, of course, the bank had been robbed and it was just a terrible mess. Mr. Bannister was already there, and Mr. Wilmington was there with him when I arrived. There was…well, there was so much…blood…on the floor…" she stopped, dabbing at her eyes again as the tears began afresh.

Jacob offered her a fresh handkerchief, which she took gratefully. "What happened next?" he asked.

"I walked behind the counter and I was just picking up a pen from one of the desks when one of the other tellers came in and startled me and I dropped it. It rolled a little way under the desk, and when I bent down to pick it up, I found a pair of eyeglasses."

"These eyeglasses?" Jacob held up the item in question, the broken and blood-smeared eyeglasses Buck had given to Chris on the day of the robbery.

"Yes."

"Did you recognize them?"

"Yes, I knew right away they belonged to Henry. I sometimes teased him that they made him look like a ten-year-old schoolboy." She smiled sadly, remembering.

"Did you ever see him without his glasses on?"

"No; he could barely see a few feet in front of him without them."

"To your knowledge, was this his only pair?" Jacob asked.

"Yes, I'm sure of it. He said so once when he dropped them and feared he'd broken them."

"So if he were to leave town for any reason, do you believe he would go without them?"

She shook her head. "No, I don't think he could."

"And finally, Mrs. O'Neill, have you seen or heard from Mr. Erickson since the robbery?"

Nora choked back a sob. "No. I haven't."

"Very well, then; those are all the questions I have for you, ma'am. Thank you very much." Jacob returned to his table.

"Mrs. O'Neill, do you need a break?" Judge Travis asked kindly.

"No, no; I'm fine. I can continue," Nora said determinedly.

"Very well. Your witness, Mr. Harker. Mr. Harker?"

Chris looked over at the defense table; Harker was asking Ezra something, but Ezra kept giving him a curt shake of the head.

"Today, please, Mr. Harker."

With a last irritated look at his client, Harker put a sympathetic smile on his face as he rose to question Nora. He paced for a moment as though gathering his thoughts, then finally opened his mouth, but paused and paced again. Finally, he looked over at Ezra. With his head still propped in his hand, the gambler's face was blocked, but it didn't appear to Chris that he was looking at Harker, which seemed to settle something for the defense lawyer.

"Mrs. O'Neill, you said that Mr. Erickson sent money to his family. To your knowledge, did they depend on him?"

"I'm not sure I understand."

"Did he send the money as a kindness or did he send it because they needed it to live on?"

"Oh. Well…" Nora stared at the floor for a few seconds, deep in thought, "now that you mention it, he did say that their farm hasn't been doing very well, but I guess I never asked any further about it."

"I see. We've heard a lot of testimony that Mr. Erickson frequently played poker with the defendant and others; does that surprise you?"

Nora gave Harker a puzzled look. "No. Should it?"

"You said he was sending money home to his family. That must have been difficult to do if he was losing it at the poker table."

"Objection; assumes facts not in evidence," Jacob said.

"Your Honor, Mr. McKee stated yesterday that Mr. Erickson was not a very good player and that, in fact, Mr. Erickson lost a large sum of money on the night of the robbery," Harker countered.

"Overruled," Judge Travis said.

"Thank you. So, Mrs. O'Neill, to your knowledge, was Mr. Erickson struggling to continue to send money home to his family?"

"I'm sorry, I don't know," she said apologetically. "He'd tell me about a card game now and then, but I really don't understand the game so he'd eventually talk about something else."

"I'm going to be very blunt, Mrs. O'Neill; I hope that's okay." Harker waited for a nod of assent before asking, "Do you think he might have been in on the robbery?" The question elicited quiet gasps from both the crowd and Nora, and an objection from Jacob. Harker rephrased the question, "Is there anything that Mr. Erickson said or did in the days before the robbery that might lead you to believe he had a role in it?"

Looking over at Ezra again, Chris could see him rubbing his eyes and shaking his head slightly, and he realized that the question, or at least the idea behind it, must have been what they were arguing about.

"Oh, no!" Nora said immediately, "Henry would never—he's the nicest, most polite young man I know. It just can't be possible."

"I see." Harker glanced back at his client again, then asked, "Do you know Mr. Standish very well?"

"Only in passing; he comes into the bank every now and then."

"And how has he been?"

"What do you mean?"

"His demeanor; how did he act? Were you ever afraid of him? Did you ever think he might, I don't know, kill you and rob the bank?"

Nora gave an embarrassed laugh. "No, oh no. Actually, he was always very sweet and charming."

"Nice and polite?"

"Yes."

"Like Henry Erickson?"

"Well…yes."

"And yet you think that Mr. Standish is capable of this crime."

"Well…" Nora fidgeted, "I mean, you never know, do you?"

"But you're sure about Henry Erickson," Harker asked.

Nora twisted the handkerchief in her lap, flustered. "Oh…I guess…I mean, I wouldn't have thought…Henry worked so very hard."

"Maybe he was tired of working that hard?"

"But he'd been trying to save money for college!"

"With a family to support as well, maybe he got tired of saving."

"Oh dear, I never considered—"

"Stop!"

The room went still and all eyes were on Ezra, including Harker's. "Mr. Standish—"

Ezra had been sitting for most of the morning with his head in the palm of his hand; now his hand fell loudly on the table and he looked up at Harker. "You leave him out of this."

"Mr. Standish, please—"

"No." Ezra put both palms on the table and pushed himself to his feet with what seemed to be a great deal of effort. Judge Travis ordered him to sit down but the gambler didn't appear to hear him. "He's just a boy! How can you do this?" Ezra tried to take a step towards Harker but bumped into the table; he looked at it in surprise, as though wondering why it was there, then stumbled back and collapsed to the floor, unconscious.


	18. Chapter 18

The room was in an uproar; Judge Travis pounded the gavel, calling for order, but everyone was talking and crowding around the defense table. As Vin, JD and Buck worked to push the crowd back, Chris simply shoved several people none-too-gently out of the way and knelt down next to Ezra.

Harker was on the other side of the gambler, lightly slapping his face. "Ezra? Ezra, can you hear me?" Ezra's eyes flickered briefly and it seemed he might say something, but then he was out again.

"Let's get him outta here," Chris said. "Buck! Give me a hand!"

With Vin and JD clearing the way, Chris and Buck carried Ezra out of the stifling Grain Exchange, Harker close behind. "Should we take him to Nathan's?" Buck asked.

"Jail's closer; fewer stairs too."

Not for the first time, Chris wished they'd sent for Nathan sooner; the healer would have known exactly what to do. Ezra was muttering indistinctly as they sat him on the cot in his cell. "We should get his coat off," Vin suggested. "He's burnin' up." Ezra sat slumped against Chris while Buck and Vin pulled off his coat and boots, then they laid him down. JD crowded into the cell as well, carrying a bowl of cold water and several rags.

"Where'd you get those?" Buck asked.

"Mary brought 'em. She went to get some more, and some stuff from Nathan's." He handed the bowl to Chris, who sat on the edge of the cot next to the fever-stricken gambler.

Ezra was soaked with sweat and continued to try to speak, but it was unintelligible. Chris wet one of the rags and laid it on his forehead. For a moment, the cool compress seemed to have a calming effect, but as the water dripped down the side of his head, Ezra's eyes opened and he reached for the cloth.

"Wha…what is this?" he asked weakly, pulling it off and letting it drop to the floor.

"It's okay, pard," Vin said, picking up the rag. "We gotcha; you're gonna be okay."

Chris wet down another rag and laid it in place of the first. The moment the water touched his face, Ezra gasped and yanked the second cloth away as well, sitting up so suddenly that he knocked the bowl out of Chris's hands; it fell to the floor and shattered. "Get it off me!" he screamed, frantically wiping the water from his face and hair.

Chris grabbed for his hands, but Ezra shoved him off the cot then swung his legs over the side and made a break for the cell door. Buck blocked the way while Vin and Chris wrestled Ezra to the floor; JD had disappeared. In the tiny space, it was impossible to avoid the broken bowl; Chris's hand landed on one of the sharp pieces and he swore loudly but continued to help hold Ezra down as he thrashed against them, trying desperately to pull away.

"Damn, Ezra, take it easy!" Vin shouted.

"Let me out! I can't breathe! Let me out!" Ezra clipped Vin hard in the face with a wild punch then got Chris in the side with his knee. They lost their hold momentarily and he rolled to get away, but his face and hands landed in the still-puddled water and he was suddenly sobbing as he pushed himself to his knees. "Oh my god…it's everywhere…"

"It's just water, Ezra," Chris said. He and Vin each seized an arm and pulled him back onto the cot. Ezra tried to wrench himself away again, but they could tell he was weakening. The front door banged open and JD came running across the jail, a bottle and cloth in hand. "Buck! Here, it's ether."

Buck took the bottle and hastily splashed some of the contents onto the cloth, which he tossed to Chris. Chris caught it deftly and held it over Ezra's nose and mouth while keeping him pinned to the cot with his other arm. Ezra clutched at the hand over his face and tried to pull it away, but he rapidly lost coordination and his arm fell to his side. Chris removed the cloth, fearful of over-dosing Ezra, and loosened his hold on the gambler. Ezra was fighting not to lose consciousness but he was fading fast. Chris and Vin stepped back and everyone just looked at each other, shocked at the outburst.

"That was good thinking, kid," Buck told JD. "I wondered where you'd run off to."

JD shrugged off the compliment. "Seen Nathan use it on a couple of patients before."

Vin picked up one of the discarded rags and handed it to Chris, who took it absently and wrapped it around his cut hand. Ezra was still trying to speak, whispering urgently; Chris leaned in close and his blood ran cold as he made out the pleading words.

"I'm sorry, Henry…I'm so sorry…"


	19. Chapter 19

Watching the still form sleeping in the cell, Chris made himself look again at all the signs he'd overlooked before: dark circles under the eyes, face pale and gaunt, slight tremors in the hands; for the hundredth time, Chris mentally kicked himself for not recognizing the danger sooner.

Apparently, he also kicked the desk because Buck, sitting across from him, started out of a doze and rubbed a hand tiredly across his face. "For the last time, it ain't your fault, Chris. We've all been so focused on the trial itself, and Ezra keeps everything so close to the vest…" he shrugged.

"We never put the pieces together," Chris said bitterly.

It had been a long day and a longer night; Mary had kept them supplied with water and they'd all taken turns working to bring down Ezra's fever. As the hours passed, they had compared enough notes to realize that, except for the morning after the robbery, none of them had seen Ezra sleep much since he was arrested—he played cards most nights, either with whoever was on watch or solitaire. He'd rarely eaten either; he'd always turned away the food with some version of, "I already ate," and none of them had realized he said it to all of them.

The fever had finally broken early this morning and Ezra had been sleeping relatively soundly for several hours. Chris was tired as well but was too angry at himself to sleep so he kept watch instead. The front door opened and he looked up to see Judge Travis motioning for him to come out.

Chris stepped outside to meet the judge and found Harker, Jacob and Bannister waiting as well. "What's going on?"

"How's Ezra doing?" Travis asked.

"Fever broke this morning; he's sleeping."

"Good, I'm glad to hear it. Listen, I, ah…I hate to ask but—"

"We're not dragging out this trial just because of that little stunt," Bannister interrupted impatiently, but Jacob put a hand on his arm and he stepped back.

"My client is anxious to know when the trial will continue," Jacob said politely.

"Your client can go to he—"

Harker coughed, cutting off Chris's retort.

Judge Travis gave them all a stern look. "Gentlemen, my job is to see that justice is carried out as swiftly as possible, but for that to happen, all parties must be able to take part. Obviously, we won't be continuing today. Gideon, do you think that your client will be well enough to continue the day after tomorrow?"

"Possibly, as long as he eats well and gets plenty of rest. Mr. Larabee?"

"Sounds like there ain't much choice."

"If Ezra takes a turn for the worse, we'll continue the adjournment," Travis assured him, "But otherwise, it's best that we resume as soon as possible. So, for now, we'll plan on the day after tomorrow."

The judge departed, Jacob and Bannister trailing after. Harker followed Chris back into the jail and pulled up a chair between the gunslinger and Buck.

"What happened?" Buck asked.

"Trial's set to continue day after tomorrow, if Ezra's well enough," Chris replied.

Harker motioned to Ezra and asked quietly, "Has he said anything yet?"

"No, nothing since last night," Buck replied. "Why?"

"I'm just wondering what it all means: everything he said last night…not to mention everything he hasn't said so far. You know, one of my objectives early on was to cast suspicion on Henry Erickson—"

"What?" Buck interrupted, "Why would you go and do something like that?"

"Because someone is guilty," Harker explained patiently, "and it's my job to make it appear that it's not my client. That usually requires that you give the jury someone else to blame. Henry still makes sense as a suspect—he had a family to support, he had access to the bank and knew about the payroll, and we still don't know for certain what happened to him."

"So why was yesterday the first time you really pointed to him?" Chris asked.

"Because Ezra has been adamantly against it from the start. He insisted Henry was innocent and forbade me to make it appear otherwise."

"He say why?" Buck asked.

"No. It's one of many ways that he's tied my hands throughout this trial."

Chris remembered the moments before Ezra's collapse. "Is that what you and Ezra were arguing about before you questioned Nora?"

Harker nodded. "She was Trevor's last witness, and my last opportunity to introduce the idea of Henry playing a role in the robbery. I have an obligation to represent my client's wishes, but I believe I have an even greater obligation to protect his interests." He threw up his hands. "I'm at a loss here, gentlemen. The prosecution will rest when the trial resumes and I've got nothing, no case to present. And this whole episode," he gestured towards the sleeping figure in the cell, "seems to point to a guilty conscience."

"Yeah, but guilty of what?" Chris murmured.

"That's what I need you to find out."


	20. Chapter 20

For the rest of the day and well into the next, Chris couldn't bring himself to question Ezra. Ezra was exhausted and slept for much of the time, generally waking only long enough to force down whatever food was pushed on him. By the next afternoon though, Ezra was awake and alert for several hours and had regained some color and strength. Judge Travis determined that the trial would go on the next day as planned and Chris knew he couldn't wait any longer.

The sound of laughter greeted him as he walked into the jail. Buck and JD were sitting outside the cell, animatedly relaying a recent run-in with a couple of drunken would-be cattle rustlers. Ezra was propped up on the cot, smiling along with them, and seemed to actually be enjoying the story and company. Chris hated to interrupt the first bit of normalcy he'd seen in over a week, but he had no choice.

"Buck, JD, why don't y'all clear out for a while."

JD's face fell; he even looked a little nervous for Ezra as he stood to go, but Buck steered the younger man out of the room with a steady hand on his shoulder, giving Chris an encouraging smile as he left.

Chris sat down next to the desk and looked over at the gambler for several moments, still not sure how to begin. The last thing he wanted was another battle, but already Ezra's smile had frozen into a mockery of itself; he clearly knew what was coming and didn't want any part of it. Nevertheless, it was Ezra who broke the silence.

"I appreciate this new open-door policy," he said, waving a hand at the cell door that had, indeed, been left open for the past two days.

"Didn't figure you'd be going anywhere," Chris replied.

"Well, I'm feeling much better today. You may wish to reconsider the arrangement." Ezra laughed softly as Chris's eyes narrowed. "Never fear, Mr. Larabee; I'm only joking." He turned his gaze to the ceiling and said quietly, "I'll take what's coming to me."

"And what do you reckon that is?" Chris asked.

"A noose, by the look of things." He said it simply; no anger, no bitterness, nothing.

"Doesn't have to be that way."

"Oh, really? I could have sworn you'd been attending the trial these past several days but I guess I was mistaken."

"Yeah, it looks bad Ezra, but there's still time to tell your side."

"There's nothing more to tell."

"I don't believe that," Chris persisted.

"That's a shame, as it's more believable than the truth," Ezra said, still looking at the ceiling.

"Cut the crap, will you? I'm trying to help you here."

"Just let it go," Ezra was becoming agitated, twisting his hands in the blanket.

"No; tell me what's going on!"

"I can't tell you any more than I already have."

Chris slammed his hand down on the desk. "Dammit, Ezra, this ain't a poker game! You can't bluff your way through this!"

"I'm not bluffing," Ezra said through gritted teeth, "I'm not saying I won't tell you; I'm saying I can't."

"Why? Just tell me why!" Chris shouted.

Ezra shot up from the bunk and grabbed the bars in a fierce grip, his voice shaking and his eyes pleading. "Because I don't know what happened that night! I don't remember!"

Chris stared at Ezra for several seconds, unsure how to respond. He was absolutely certain that Ezra wasn't trying to con him; he'd never seen the gambler let his guard down so completely, and it was actually unnerving. On the other hand… "C'mon, Ezra, how do you just forget an entire night? I ain't never seen you drink that much, especially when you're playing poker."

"I wasn't drunk…I mean, I don't believe I was drunk…I…" Ezra rested his head against the bars and closed his eyes in frustration, then seemed to lose whatever brief strength he'd had. He made his way unsteadily back to the cot and sat down before continuing. "I remember playing poker all evening with the gentlemen from the Five Bar Ranch and Henry; I remember the argument with Henry and him leaving; and I remember the game ending not very long after that. I know that I decided to play a few hands of solitaire before retiring. And then…I was still playing solitaire but it was the next morning and JD was asking me about the card game. I was wearing different clothes, I had even shaved…but I didn't recall a thing. It was…unsettling, to say the least."

"Jesus…why didn't you say something?"

Ezra laughed without mirth. "When? You came in with Mr. Bannister a short while later and allowed him to search my room."

"You hardly said 'no' yourself."

"I was a little preoccupied with wondering what had happened to Sunday and, as I recall, I had a splitting headache; I could hardly think, let alone protest. The entire day is something of a blur."

"Well, he had your ring; he wasn't gonna just walk away," Chris pointed out. "Besides, I didn't think he'd find anything; I thought it'd get him off your back so we could go looking for the real robbers."

"Right, of course. I can't imagine why I didn't recognize that that was your aim."

The heavy sarcasm caught Chris off guard. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"It's not as if you haven't had cause to question my loyalty," Ezra said, the anger evident although he was too tired to put the full weight of it into the barb.

It took a moment for Chris to figure out what the southerner was referring to but then he flashed back to his testimony with Trevor Jacob. "That ain't fair, Ezra; Jacob said that, not me."

"No, you didn't say it, but you _did_ it—you questioned my loyalty, repeatedly, during the entire Stutz affair. And Josiah…" Ezra shook his head and trailed off.

This time Chris knew exactly what Ezra was referring to; after the 'Stutz affair' had ended, Chris had confronted the preacher about leaving the money with Ezra, and Josiah had told him what he'd told the gambler: _"You blame your friends? Blame yourself! Look inside your own heart, Ezra; face your own demons!"_ Josiah had also admitted that he regretted what he'd said, especially since it was the first time Ezra had come to him for guidance. Had Josiah never made amends? It didn't appear he had. Then again, neither had Chris—but why would he? Ezra had joked with Chris about the money just after he was shot and again after Nathan patched him up; life had gone back to normal and Chris had thought everything was fine.

He thought back now to the days after the bank robbery, how Ezra had continually dodged their questions and made no attempt to confide in them; Chris had been furious about it almost continuously since then, assuming that Ezra just didn't trust them despite all they'd been through. Now he felt a wave of nausea as he realized why. "All this time, you thought we wouldn't believe you; that we wouldn't have your back," he said quietly.

Ezra looked at the floor and didn't answer.

Chris studied him for a moment. God, it was so much easier facing problems with a gun or his fists! Trying to find the right words was difficult, especially when talking to Ezra, for whom the poker face was a way of life. But Chris had never backed down from a challenge, even when that challenge was one of his own men.

"You know, the first time we worked together, you ditched us; almost got us all killed." Ezra winced visibly at the reminder, but Chris pressed on. "I was pissed as hell at you—but I was also impressed that you had the guts to come back. You remember what I said to you then?"

"I believe it was, 'Don't ever run out on me again,'" Ezra replied, still not meeting Chris' eyes.

"That's right. And you haven't. You've done a hell of a job here; never let us down. And that's why I've never questioned your loyalty." Chris held up a hand as Ezra made a sound of disbelief. "_Never_; not once. What I've questioned lots of times—including with Stutz's money—is your judgment. Ain't no question you're smart but that sure don't seem to stop you from making dumb decisions. I mean, look at this mess! How could you wait until now to tell me this? Maybe we could'a done something—"

"Done what? Don't you think I've been trying to remember?"

"I don't know, Ezra, but you didn't even give us a chance! You _lied_ to us! Telling us you were in a fight, that you'd sold your ring—"

"It wasn't really a lie."

"Ezra, c'mon."

"I mean, when I said those things, I really thought…" Ezra sighed and laid back, rubbing his eyes. "Hell, I didn't know what had happened, and a fight was a logical, reasonable explanation. It could have been true…I wanted it to be true."

"Well, it's not the worst story I've ever heard." Ezra and Chris both started at the sound of Harker's voice coming from beyond the partially open front door. He leaned around the corner and gave a small smile before walking into the jail, a plate of food in his hands. "And it does explain some things. Here, eat this." He held out the plate of food; Ezra made no move at first but Harker simply stood there until the gambler finally got up and took it. Harker then stared at him for several more seconds until he reluctantly began eating.

"So tell me about the money," Harker said, sitting down across from Chris.

Ezra gave him a puzzled look. "The money?"

"The money you gave to Henry that night. Do you remember that?"

Ezra began pushing the food around on the plate and didn't answer.

"Ezra?" Chris prompted.

"No, I don't remember. I really don't," he insisted, at the looks he received from both men. At a second, pointed glare from Chris, he took another bite before continuing. "But as you may recall, I said that I may have felt badly about what happened with that last hand. I had reason to. I told you he cheated…what I didn't mention is that I'm the one who taught him."


	21. Chapter 21

"I'd been teaching Henry to play poker for months; it's why his game improved so dramatically."

Not knowing Ezra very well, Harker took the admission in stride; Chris, however, was surprised. "Since when do you teach anyone anything about poker? You've cleaned JD out of an entire week's pay at least three times that I know of; as far as I can tell, he ain't learned a thing from you."

"And he probably never will. He is a fine lawman, but he should give up on poker." Ezra laughed, but the other two didn't join in and it turned into a sigh. "Henry joined a game several months ago; he was terrible and he lost quickly but graciously. The next day he came by and asked me to teach him to play."

"And you did?" Chris was more than a little incredulous.

Ezra smiled a small, sad smile. "People lose in all sorts of ways; some just accept it as part of the game, some get angry at themselves, others get angry at me. But no one had ever come back and just asked if I could help make them a better player. So yes, I agreed to teach him."

Chris was stunned. Thinking back, he realized that it was true: in all the games he'd ever sat in on or just watched, neither he nor the other five lawmen had ever asked for so much as a tip from the expert in their midst. Even more astonishing was the realization that he would have given it to them if they'd asked.

"But why'd you teach him to cheat?"

"I assure you, that was not my aim. I was teaching him how to spot someone palming a card; it helps to know how it's done in order to recognize it. I never thought he'd try it himself, and I don't know why he did that night. He was an honest kid," Ezra stopped and closed his eyes for a moment.

"Are you okay to continue, Ezra?" Harker asked with concern.

"Yes, I'm fine." Ezra blinked a few times and took another bite, avoiding their gazes. "I think Henry just got caught up in winning so much for the first time and he decided to try something stupid. But I couldn't let him use what I'd taught him against me like that, and I didn't want to see him become a dishonest player. So I taught him another lesson, a hard one. When he left, he knew I'd cheated him, and he knew that I knew he'd tried to cheat me. Maybe he came back later to apologize; it seems like something he would have done."

"I'm just asking, Ezra, so don't take this the wrong way," Chris warned, "but looking back, do you think you'd've given him back his money in those circumstances?"

Ezra gave it some thought. "His salary was hardly exorbitant, and most of it was divided between his family and his savings. He'd set a limit on what he could gamble with every week and he'd always stuck to it; I know I admired that restraint." He shrugged noncommittally. "I can't imagine that I would have given back everything, but I believe I would have given back anything beyond his customary limit. I suppose I have to believe that, don't I?"

Chris didn't respond; Ezra was right—it was the only explanation that didn't make him and Henry accomplices in a robbery. "So now what?" he finally asked, turning to Harker.

The lawyer mulled over what he'd heard. At last he said, "Well, now that I know your side of the story, I think you've got to take the stand."

Ezra almost choked on his food. "Are you out of your mind? I can't possibly—"

"Hear the man out, Ezra."

"You can't be serious!" He dropped the plate, letting the food splatter across the floor.

"Why not?" Chris asked.

"Because it's ludicrous! No, absolutely not." Ezra laid back down on the cot with his back to the other two men and drew the blanket up to his ears.

Chris and Harker exchanged a 'Now what?' look. After several minutes, Harker shook his head dejectedly and left. Chris was trying to decide whether to leave as well when a muffled voice came from the cell.

"No one is going to believe me." There was a pause and then, even more quietly, "I don't even believe me."

Chris ran his hand through his hair with a sigh. There was no point in bluffing, certainly not to Ezra of all people. "They may not. Ain't nothing you can do about that," he said frankly. "You're in a corner here, Ezra, and you ain't done much to help yourself so far, or let anyone else help you. And maybe it's too late to make a difference—"

"Good lord, I hope this isn't your idea of a pep talk."

The gunslinger couldn't help smiling at the comment but his expression immediately sobered. "Point is, the Ezra Standish I know wouldn't go down without a fight. He'd get up in front of that jury and tell his side, no matter what happened. And Ezra—" he waited until Ezra sat back up and faced him, "you ain't fighting alone. You never were."


	22. Chapter 22

In the dim light of the crowded saloon, Chris stared absently at his plate of stew and tried to think of something, anything, that he could do next to further Ezra's cause. He'd let Harker know that Ezra had agreed to testify, and the lawyer was cautiously optimistic that it would help. Chris had come to trust Harker's judgment and abilities, and he believed that he'd done the right thing in convincing Ezra to testify…but his stomach seemed to be considerably less sure and he'd spent the last fifteen minutes pushing his food around on his plate.

"Ain't that bad is it? 'Cause I'm starving."

Nathan's rich voice caught Chris by surprise and he found himself smiling in relief at the sight of the healer, who pulled out a chair and joined him at the table, followed closely by Josiah. "Nathan, Josiah; 'bout time! You just get back?"

"Came as soon as we could, brother," Josiah replied.

"One of the elders broke his leg pretty bad just after we got there; got infected," Nathan explained apologetically. "It was touch and go for a while. I couldn't leave until I was sure he would be okay. Sorry; wish we could'a been here sooner."

"Just glad you're back now," Chris said. "You been by the jail yet?"

"No," Nathan said, "we didn't stop much on the way back so we thought we'd grab a bite to eat before we went over."

"How's the trial going?" Josiah asked.

"Not great; there's a lot of evidence against him. If he hadn't collapsed a few days ago, the trial'd probably be over by now."

"Ezra collapsed? When? How is he?" Nathan rose from his chair but Chris motioned for him to sit back down.

"Day before yesterday; he's doing better now. You should check in on him, but y'all can get some food in ya first." He motioned to Inez behind the bar; she came over to the table and offered to bring the weary travelers some dinner, which Nathan and Josiah gratefully accepted. While they waited for the food to arrive, Chris filled them in on all the details they'd missed: the evidence, the fruitless search for Henry and the missing money, the lawyers for both sides, the witnesses and, finally, Ezra's actions and unexpected illness.

"What happened?" Nathan asked.

"From what we figured out, he didn't sleep or eat much in the week after the robbery. Finally caught up with him."

"Stupid, stubborn…" Nathan trailed off and Chris couldn't help but grin briefly.

"That ain't the half of it." Chris relayed the details Ezra had only just finally shared, how he didn't remember anything from the night of the robbery. "You ever hear of anything like that, Nathan? He says he wasn't drunk, and he was never actually in a fight, so how do we explain it?"

The healer sat back in his chair and crossed his arms, thinking. After a few moments he nodded. "You know, I saw something like that happen to soldiers sometimes, during the war."

"From injuries?" Chris asked.

"Sometimes; sometimes it was just the horror of what they'd seen in battle. They'd just…I don't know, blot it out, I guess. Some of the things I seen…gotta say, I wish I could do the same." Chris and Josiah nodded in sympathy and Nathan continued, "Ezra can't tell you anything at all?"

"No, but he said some strange stuff when he was sick." Chris told them about Ezra's delirious outburst in the cell just after his collapse and saw his own concern mirrored in the other two lawmen's faces. "You think he saw something, like with those soldiers?"

"Could be," Nathan said.

"So you could testify about that, right? It would explain why he doesn't remember."

"Yeah, it would…" Nathan trailed off again, his expression a mix of worry and regret.

For the thousandth time in the past ten days, Chris felt a twist in his gut. "But?"

Nathan sighed. "But we don't know if he saw anything, much less what it might have been, so there's nothing for me to testify to. And without more information, it wouldn't help prove him innocent anyway; it'd just help prove he was there."

"You're right." Chris sighed in frustration. "Dammit! I was hoping you'd have some ideas that could help Harker make Ezra look more…believable."

"He's just gotta get up there and tell the truth," Josiah said.

Chris drained the rest of his whiskey and smacked the glass down in irritation. "Hate to say it, but I'd be more confident if he was gonna get up there and lie."


	23. Chapter 23

"So Henry paid up and left without saying anything more. What happened next, Ezra?"

Chris looked at the jury again; he'd watched them throughout Ezra's testimony and was growing more and more concerned. They all sat with their arms crossed and their expressions largely impassive. For some reason, Ezra wasn't getting through to them. Something just wasn't working…

"Is it just me," Vin whispered, "or does Ezra seem a little too easy-going?"

Chris took another look at the southerner and realized that Vin was right. Ezra was telling the same story that he'd told Chris and Harker the night before, but now it had none of the urgency, none of the emotion; instead, he was charming and reassuring, as if he were talking to potential investors in his erstwhile saloon rather than twelve men who could sentence him to death. "It almost sounds like he rehearsed it," Chris agreed.

He turned his attention to Harker as Ezra came to the end of his story. He'd seen the older lawyer glancing at the jury throughout Ezra's testimony and, after so many days of observing him, Chris could tell that Harker wasn't satisfied with how it was going either. He was at the end of his questions and was about to return to his table, but Chris could see the frustration and determination on his face as he paused and turned back to the gambler.

"I'm sorry, one more question for you."

From the brief flash of confusion in Ezra's expression, Chris was sure that Harker was about to ask something that Ezra wasn't expecting.

"You told us earlier that you had lied to your fellow lawmen." It wasn't a question, but he appeared to expect a response.

"Yes…as I said, I thought I was on my own. I should have known better." Ezra looked over to where Chris and the others were sitting in the crowd and addressed the comments to them. "I'm very sorry for having done that." Chris believed that he meant it…it just didn't sound like it.

"But you've known these men for a long time," Harker said. "You've served with them in some pretty dangerous circumstances, helping to protect this town, saving people's lives…"

"Yes."

"So how could you be so selfish as to not even try?"

Ezra stiffened in indignation. "Excuse me?"

"How, after all the time that you've spent with these men, in this town, after all you've been through together, could you sit back and let all of this," he gestured vaguely around the room, "just play out in front of you without saying one word—excuse me, one _truthful_ word—to let them know you were innocent?" Harker's question was laced with disgust, and in the blink of an eye, Chris saw Ezra's easy confidence crumble, replaced by exhaustion, uncertainty and embarrassment. Ezra shifted uneasily in the chair and cleared his throat, but didn't respond until Harker prompted him with an irritated, "Well?"

"I don't know…"

"I think you do."

Ezra went still and looked down at the floor for so long that Chris began to fear he wouldn't answer, but at last he spoke, his voice so soft that several of the jurors leaned forward to hear him better. "The first day, the day of the robbery…I only remember pieces of it. The next day, I wasn't sure what I'd said and I spent most of that day trying to figure out what everyone else knew or thought they knew. But none of it helped. I still didn't know what had happened; I couldn't explain it and I thought that if I told anyone…" He was quiet for several moments and Chris expected Harker to prompt Ezra again, but the lawyer just stood and waited for Ezra to continue on his own.

Ezra tilted his head slightly with a sad half-smile. "Trust me when I say that I am well-versed in recognizing what people will and will not believe. For much of my life, that has been a gift. But all this evidence," he flicked a finger towards the evidence table, "is compelling, and my story is not. It seemed that I would be convicted no matter what and frankly," Ezra took a deep breath before addressing the jury directly, "I felt that I'd rather be convicted on a lie than in spite of the truth."

Buck sighed softly, and Chris glanced over to see him shaking his head sadly. Chris understood how he felt; it was hard to hear that one of their own was more willing to face death than doubt. He looked over to the jury and breathed his own sigh, this one of relief; the jurors were now all actively listening, their expressions open and in some cases even sympathetic. Harker's tactic had worked.

"Thank you, Mr. Standish." Harker gave a nod to the jury as if to say 'Now you've finally heard the truth.' Chris hoped they saw it that way, especially when he saw the grim expression on Trevor Jacob's face as he stood to begin his cross-examination.


	24. Chapter 24

"Good morning, Mr. Standish. I'm glad you're feeling better today."

"Indeed, Mr. Jacob; your concern is palpable."

Chris was strangely gladdened by the southerner's mild sarcasm; it was good to see a hint of the old Ezra. Harker didn't feel the same; Chris saw the lawyer give Ezra a subtle headshake.

Jacob just smiled at the barb, unperturbed. "Where to begin…" He stood and gazed out the window behind Ezra for so long that Judge Travis finally said, "Mr. Jacob? Do you have a question for Mr. Standish?"

Jacob gave little start that Chris was sure was just for show and said, "Several, Your Honor, but since Mr. Standish has conveniently forgotten everything, I don't—"

"Objection—"

Jacob waved in acquiescence before Harker finished. "Well, let's see then…you do remember the days before the robbery?"

"Yes."

"And you say that Mr. Bannister never told you about the payroll?"

"Objection; Mr. Standish stated on direct examination that Mr. Bannister did not tell him about the payroll."

"Sustained."

"I'm sorry, Your Honor." Jacob looked at Ezra as he continued, "I must have _forgotten_."

Judge Travis didn't miss the dig. He pointed the gavel at Jacob and warned, "Watch yourself, Mr. Jacob, or I will hold you in contempt."

Jacob nodded but Chris could tell he was unconcerned; he'd gotten his point across to the jury—he found Ezra's story unbelievable and wanted them to see it that way too.

"Let's talk about something you do remember then: Henry Erickson. You say you'd been teaching him to play poker for months. Have you ever taught anyone else in Four Corners?" He gestured to the audience in the room.

"No."

"Not even your fellow lawmen?"

"No."

"And what about before Four Corners?" Jacob persisted. "At any time in your life, have you ever made a point to teach someone else to play poker?"

"I taught some of my cousins when we were young."

"I see. So teaching Mr. Erickson to play was really quite unusual. I don't suppose anyone else was aware of this arrangement?"

"At the time, that seemed best."

"Meaning what?"

"Meaning that I wasn't running a charity for incompetent poker players," Ezra said. "I enjoyed teaching Henry, but I didn't care to have every player in town coming to me and expecting advice."

"True; if everyone improved, that would hurt your game considerably."

It was meant to cut, but Ezra smiled widely and drawled, "Exactly."

There were chuckles throughout the room and Jacob went along ruefully, as though the response wasn't really unexpected. "So then why Henry?"

"Why Henry?"

"Why, of all the people in Four Corners, did you decide to teach Henry Erickson to play poker? Did he pay you?"

"Only what he lost while playing."

"Were you old friends?" Jacob asked.

"No," Ezra said, irritation beginning to show, "as I explained earlier, I just appreciated being asked to share my skills."

"So, a boy you barely knew asked you to teach him to play a game that you've never taught anyone else but family to play and you agreed to do it out of the kindness of your heart?"

"Objection; asked and answered," Harker said.

"Sustained; move on, Mr. Jacob."

Jacob nodded and walked back to his table where he picked up a sheet of paper and reviewed it before turning back to Ezra. "Is the name 'Ezra Simpson' familiar to you?"

Chris groaned inwardly; he knew 'Ezra Simpson' was a former alias of Ezra's—he just didn't know exactly what that alias had done. He expected Ezra to deny knowing anything; he wouldn't have blamed him under these circumstances, but after a brief hesitation in which he glanced over at Harker, Ezra answered in the affirmative.

"Under that name, you conned fourteen people out of hundreds of dollars by selling them shares in a silver mine claim you did not, in fact, own, is that correct?"

Ezra looked down at his hands for several seconds before finally looking back up and responding, "I was pardoned for that."

"Yes, I'm aware. I'm also aware that you were in and around Fort Laramie for several weeks carrying out that scheme. Am I correct in assuming that you formed relationships with all of those people during that time?"

"Objection, Your Honor. I fail to see the relevance of this line of questioning."

Judge Travis gave his old friend an apologetic gaze. "I'm afraid I do; overruled."

Jacob turned back to Ezra and waited for an answer. Once again, Ezra stared at his hands; this time he didn't look up before answering. "Yes, I did."

"Were you friendly with them for any reason other than carrying out your deception?"

Chris wished that Harker would object again but assumed he must not be able to now. It was almost painful watching Ezra have to answer for a past he'd been putting behind him, that he'd done so much to make up for. He thought of all the times he'd wondered whether he was getting the truth out of the wily gambler and found himself hoping that Ezra would lie right now. Ezra seemed to want to; he closed his eyes and sighed but still answered, "No, I was not."

"Of course not," Jacob agreed, "because in your profession, making friends is a means to an end, isn't it?"

"In my _past_ profession," Ezra corrected, his voice shaking ever so slightly as fatigue and anxiety began to take their toll.

Jacob ignored the response. Chris saw the same intensity in the lawyer's face that he'd seen when he was on the receiving end of Jacob's questions and knew he was about to go for the kill—and Ezra wasn't ready for it.

"The real reason you befriended Henry Erickson was because he had access to the bank, isn't that right?" Jacob asked.

"No, I—"

"You spent weeks pretending to help him out so that when an opportunity arose, you would be able to exploit his gratitude, didn't you?"

"No—"

"And when you learned about the payroll, you figured it was time to be paid back for your efforts—"

"That's not true!"

"It is true," Jacob insisted. "You knew he needed money, because you'd steadily bled him for months, hadn't you?"

"Never—"

"And then you cheated him in the game that evening so that when you offered to pay him to let you into the bank, he'd be more likely to give in."

"No!" Ezra was gripping the arms of the chair tightly now; Chris could see that he was trying to keep his hands from shaking.

"But it wasn't enough, was it?" Jacob pressed, moving in closer, "He changed his mind while you were in there and you killed him, didn't you?"

"I wouldn't—"

"Wouldn't you? You've killed people before, haven't you?"

"Not like that…"

"Not like what? How did he die?"

"His throat was cut."

A ripple of surprise swept the crowd. Chris was stunned, and from the look on Harker's face, he was too. He felt a stab of anger; how could Ezra have let them be surprised again? How could he not tell them? The anger vanished as quickly as it had appeared when he looked back over at Ezra; the gambler's eyes were slightly unfocused, and he seemed to be shaken by the admission.

If Jacob saw the expression, it didn't move him. "How do you know that?" he asked.

"I don't know…I just know…"

"Oh come on, Mr. Standish; you were obviously there." Jacob stepped close to the witness chair so that he was towering over Ezra, who tried to lean away. "You know what happened to Henry Erickson. That's his blood on your coat over there, isn't it?"

"I don't know…maybe…"

"So how did it get there?"

Ezra fumbled at the tie around his neck. "Please…I can't breathe…"

"Answer the question!"

Chris was on the verge of stepping in himself when Harker stood, shoving his chair so that it scraped loudly across the floor and the sound startled Jacob into taking a step back. "Objection, Your Honor! Badgering!"

Judge Travis seemed to want to agree with Harker but he shook his head. "Tone it down, Mr. Jacob. But you're overruled, Mr. Harker; the witness will answer."

All eyes turned to Ezra, whose own eyes were closed as he struggled to get his breathing under control. Nathan made a move as if to stand, but Chris put a hand out and shook his head to wait. It was better to get this over with.

After several seconds, Ezra ran a shaking hand through his hair and opened his eyes. He took a few more moments to straighten his tie and sit a little straighter before looking up at Jacob with anger and resolve, and his voice was quiet but firm. "I don't know how Henry's blood came to be on my coat. I don't know why I said his throat was cut. You think I have answers that I'm choosing not to share—I don't."

"I believe you know more than you're saying," Jacob replied.

"I don't," Ezra repeated fiercely, "and _I don't want to_."

"Well we do, Mr. Standish," Jacob said, indicating the jury, "but since you won't tell us, I guess we're done here."


	25. Chapter 25

"I guess this is it." Ezra brushed invisible dust from his lapels for the third time as he stood to follow Harker out of the jail.

Chris put a hand on his arm as he passed. "You done everything you could. We'll all be there." The gambler nodded gratefully and stepped out into the bright morning sun. After a few moments, Chris sighed and followed.

There really was nothing more to be done. Given Ezra's unexpected comments on the stand, Harker had made a last-minute decision to call Nathan to testify about his experiences with soldiers during the war. It was clear from Harker's dozen or so questions that he'd had the foresight to speak to Nathan beforehand, and the testimony seemed to resonate with the jury. Then Jacob had countered with only one question: _"So…just to be clear…you're not actually a doctor, correct?"_

Harker had rested his case after that, and Judge Travis recessed for the rest of the day so that each side could refine their closing arguments. After a brief meeting with Ezra, who'd had no more information to give, Harker had spent the evening in his hotel, preparing and practicing, leaving the seven lawmen to an amiable, if somewhat somber, dinner at the jail. Buck and JD had worked hard to keep the mood light, but they all knew what they weren't talking about.

Drained from his day in court and still not fully recovered from his illness, Ezra had dozed off several times, but insisted he was fine as soon as anyone offered to go. It was as close as the gambler would come to asking them to stay—and so they had, for the rest of the night, camped out in chairs, in the other cell, and even on the floor.

Now as they made their way to the Grain Exchange, Chris had the sensation that he was heading to a gunfight: There was the excitement of a long-awaited moment finally arriving, the nervous thrill of anticipation over what (and who) would go down, and the sudden spikes of extreme self-confidence immediately swallowed by blackest hopelessness. The difference today was that Chris had no control over the outcome. Still, he did what he always did in such situations: projected an air of calm assurance that his fellow lawmen emulated.

It seemed the entire town had turned out. People stood in groups or pairs all along the boardwalk, some talking animatedly and others leaning together and whispering. Almost everyone glanced their way occasionally, which made Chris feel as though he were the one on trial. The Grain Exchange itself was already full, which explained all the people outside. At a glare from Chris, several men relinquished their seats to the lawmen.

The general murmuring and milling about subsided as Judge Travis strode into the room and took his place at his table. After a few opening remarks, he gestured towards Trevor Jacob, who stood to make his closing argument.

The prosecutor stared at the jury members for a few moments, then glanced at Ezra, then back to the jury before beginning, speaking with an air of sympathy. "Gentlemen of the jury," he cast his gaze to the wider audience, "and people of Four Corners, good morning. Again I thank you for taking part in these proceedings. No matter what the crime, no matter the victim or the accused, it is a difficult thing to sit in judgment of your fellow man. But now we have finally come to it, and you must weigh the evidence that has been laid before you and come to a decision. So let's take a moment to review what transpired and what we have discovered over these past several days." He moved towards the evidence table as he continued.

"Between the night of the ninth and the morning of the tenth, the First National Bank was robbed. A pool of blood was found in the bank and a teller, Henry Erickson, went missing. We believe he was in the bank that night because his glasses," Jacob held up the broken and blood-stained pair, "were found at the scene. And we know these are Henry Erickson's glasses because his fellow worker, Nora O'Neill, identified them as such." He set the glasses down and picked up the next item.

"A ruby ring was found in the bank; that ring was proven to belong to the defendant, Ezra Standish. We even know that he was wearing it the night of the robbery, because Michael McKee of the Five Bar Ranch sat here and told us it was used as stakes in a poker game that very night. Mr. Standish's room was searched—by his fellow lawmen, I might add—and they discovered a bloody coat and shirt," again he held up the items. "There is no question that they also belong to Mr. Standish and we know that he was wearing them the night of the robbery from Mr. McKee's testimony." Jacob laid the garments back on the table.

"We also heard testimony that Mr. Standish and Mr. Erickson had a disagreement just hours before the robbery, and that Mr. Erickson had accused Mr. Standish of cheating in front of several witnesses. And yet, that very night, Mr. Standish was seen giving money to Mr. Erickson, before they both left the saloon…and Mr. Erickson was never seen again."

Jacob paced towards the jury, clasping his hands behind his back. "Now despite how damning these things look, I must admit that it is all what we call 'circumstantial evidence.' I must admit that because my esteemed colleague over there," he motioned towards Harker, "will make quite a point of telling you that himself. What it means is that it is possible to look at this evidence and think that perhaps there is another explanation." He shook his head. "But is there really? Because I am hard-pressed to imagine what that explanation might be—and I have to try to imagine it, because Mr. Standish hasn't given us an alternative." He cast a withering glance at Ezra and added with deep sarcasm, "He doesn't _remember_. And yet he sat right here in front of us and told us that Mr. Erickson's throat was cut, a detail that only the killer could know. Maybe he never meant for it to go that far; you're welcome to believe that—but it doesn't make him less of a murderer.

"Gentlemen, I said that it is difficult to sit in judgment of your fellow man, but surely the evidence you have seen and the testimony you have heard has lightened your burden. Mr. Standish used his skills as a poker player to befriend Mr. Erickson so that he could use him to gain access to the bank. When he learned of the Western Sky payroll, he saw his opportunity; he robbed the First National Bank and killed Mr. Erickson, and now he must answer for his crimes.

"Clearly, you put great trust in Mr. Standish to help protect this town, and from what we've all heard in this very room, there was a time that he deserved that trust. But the sad fact is, for whatever reason, he decided to break that trust. Ezra Standish may have been something of a good man once, but today he sits before you a murderer and a thief. There can be no doubt of his guilt, and I therefore charge you to return a verdict of guilty."

Jacob gave a nod to Harker as he returned to his table, as though acknowledging an opponent in a duel. _Which is what they're doing, I guess,_ Chris thought, _just with different weapons_. Harker laid a reassuring hand on Ezra's shoulder as he stood; the gambler gave him a quick, nervous smile and then the lawyer began his final defense.


	26. Chapter 26

"Well, I had a lovely preamble planned," Harker said to the jury with a wry smile, "telling you all about circumstantial evidence, but Mr. Jacob has kindly spared me the need for that. Maybe I'm getting predictable in my old age." He chuckled softly and the jurors smiled along.

"Since I didn't get to explain that little bit of terminology to you, let me give you another one: 'inoculating the jury.' What that means is, you point out the flaws in your own case so that they don't seem so bad; in fact, you might even tell the jury that it's silly to focus on those flaws. So sure, Mr. Jacob admits that all that 'evidence' is circumstantial but then he says, never mind that! Because it absolutely adds up to a very obvious conclusion." Harker turned a scolding gaze on Jacob as he paraphrased the prosecutor. "But does it really? Because I am hard-pressed to make sense of the picture he's painted of my client with that evidence."

He held his right hand out as if gesturing to an invisible person. "He credits Ezra as being so clever that he spent months befriending a teller, Henry Erickson, so that he could gain access to the bank at just the right time; so clever that he arranged for Henry to let him into the bank that night—and yet," Harker held out his left hand to a second invisible person, "Ezra was stupid enough to have a very public argument with his 'inside man' on the very night of the robbery, an argument that was bound to be remembered. Wouldn't it have made more sense to lay low, to not even be seen with Henry Erickson that night? But never mind that.

"Mr. Jacob credits Ezra with being clever enough to do all this so that he could steal the Western Sky payroll and kill Henry Erickson in the process…and yet he expects you to believe that such a man isn't clever enough to get rid of a bloody coat and shirt, not clever enough to keep from leaving a very identifiable ring in the bank and, oh, by the way, apparently not clever enough to _take the money and run_."

Harker stood still for several moments, letting his last comment sink in. "That's right gentlemen. Let me remind you that nowhere in all of the testimony that you have heard has anyone mentioned the missing money. Surely a robber who was sloppy enough to commit all of the mistakes that Ezra is supposed to have made would have been caught with the money as well. But then," his voice rose in indignation, "surely a robber as clever as Mr. Jacob tells you Ezra is would have left town to begin with! But never mind that as well, right? That's what Mr. Jacob wants you to do—never mind all of these inconsistencies because he has _things_ sitting over there on that table and they must add up to _something_." The lawyer threw up his hands, then shook his head in dismay and continued in a subdued tone.

"I know you'd like to have a simple, clear explanation for the evidence you've seen. You'd like for Ezra to have sat in that chair and told you that he really was in a fight, and then had three people sit there and back him up. You'd have liked for him to have said that he really did sell that ring to someone, and then have had that person come in here and say, 'Why yes, I bought that ring from Ezra Standish and then I lost it.' You'd have liked it if there were a few people who could say that they saw Ezra during the time of the robbery and therefore he couldn't have done it. And I have to tell you," he gave a rueful smile, "I'd really like all that too. Those are some confusing pieces of evidence and I would surely like to know the real story they're trying to tell. But you know who'd like to know that story even more than you or I? Ezra Standish.

"Now I've been a lawyer for a long time, longer than some of you have even been alive, and this is a first for me. I've never had a client who simply couldn't remember where he was the night of the crime. It sounds preposterous! But unfortunately, sometimes the truth is stranger than any dime novel tale…and sometimes we don't even get to know the whole truth. Sometimes, like today, we have to take a leap of faith and make a choice based on something other than neat and tidy facts. And that's what I'm asking you to do. Because when you get right down to it, you're not judging a ring or a coat or a pair of broken eyeglasses. You're judging a man; you're judging this man."

Harker gestured to Ezra, who looked back at his defense counsel and then over at the jury. Chris studied the gambler's face; where before he would have seen only the carefully constructed mask, he could now see the slight twitch at the corner of the mouth that betrayed his nervousness, the slight flicker in his gaze that hinted at his fear.

"Ezra Standish has lived among you for well over a year. He has put his life on the line many times to protect you from the worst elements. You might argue that he's paid a salary to do that job, but tell me: How many of you would be willing to do what he and his fellow lawmen do for a dollar a day? How many of you would give up working on your farm, or in your store, or restaurant or hotel, knowing every day that you might take a bullet for your trouble?"

Chris could hear and see men throughout the room—including on the jury—shifting in their seats. Many had refused to serve on juries or in posses in the past when needed; Chris was glad to see that Harker's words had struck a nerve with them.

"Now there's nothing wrong with relying on professionals to serve as your peacekeepers," Harker continued, "but you must admit that it's a job very few people are willing to do day in and day out. And so I ask you: do you really believe that someone who has stood up for you like that would betray the job, and all of you, so thoroughly? Mr. Jacob calls Ezra a thief and a killer, but is that what you've seen? Is it what you see now? I know I don't, and I don't think you do either. The evidence may seem to tell one story, but if you have a reasonable doubt as to whether it is the _true_ story, you must find Ezra Standish not guilty."

Chris gave Harker a nod as he returned to his table. Both sides seemed to have impressed the jury, and Chris could see nothing in their faces to give a hint of which way they might be leaning. He was about to say as much to Vin when the tracker gave a subtle start and inhaled sharply. "A thief and a killer…" he whispered.

Something in Vin's tone caught Chris's attention. "What's the matter?"

Vin's eyes were wide as he scanned the crowd. "Where's Bannister?"

"Dunno; haven't seen him today. Why, what's up?"

"We gotta find him." Vin stood and made his way quickly out of the Grain Exchange, Chris close behind. Judge Travis gave them a curious glance as they left, but didn't pause in providing his instructions to the jury.

"Vin, wait!" Chris stopped him in the street outside. "Hold on; what's going on?"

Vin spun on his heel, clearly agitated. "What Harker said, 'a thief and a killer.'"

"Yeah, so?"

"The day we searched Ezra's room, Bannister was there. Right after we found the clothes, he went nuts, remember?"

Chris thought back to that awful morning and felt a stab in his gut as he remembered what Bannister had said. "He called Ezra a thief and a killer…"

"Those words exactly."

Chris's heart began to race with a surge of hope but he tamped down on it. "OK, but we guessed someone was probably dead from the amount of blood in the bank."

"Yeah, but we thought it was one of the robbers, and Bannister was outside when we talked about it. He wouldn't even look at the blood, remember? All he cared about was the money until—"

"—until he attacked Ezra," Chris cut in.

Vin nodded grimly. "No one knew Henry was missing yet, so why'd Bannister try to pin a murder on Ezra right then?"

"Unless he already knew it was Henry's blood. Damn! Where does he stay?"

"Pretty sure he's got a room at Virginia's," Vin replied. "But wait, what about the trial?"

"We don't know anything for sure yet; Judge Travis ain't gonna stop it with what we got. We'll just have to hope that the jury takes a while to make up their minds. Let's go."


	27. Chapter 27

Chris and Vin stood outside the door to Preston Bannister's room. Vin put an ear to the door and listened for several seconds, then nodded to Chris; Bannister was inside. Slowly, quietly, they drew their weapons, then Chris gave a silent count and kicked in the door.

Bannister screamed as the door splintered in; the clothes he'd been in the middle of packing flew into the air as he dashed to a corner and cowered there. "Don't kill me! I won't say anything! Please, don't hurt…" he trailed off as he finally looked up to face the two lawmen. His wide eyes grew even wider and his mouth opened and closed but nothing came out.

Vin gave a sound of disgust and holstered his mare's leg. He grabbed Bannister by the arm and hauled him up and over to the bed while Chris kept his .45 trained on the bank manager. "That was a mighty peculiar reaction, Bannister," Vin growled. "You care to tell us who you thought we were?"

"And why you're in such a hurry to leave," Chris added.

Bannister was visibly shaking now, but still jutted out his chin in petulant defiance. "I…I'm sure I have no idea what you're talking about."

Chris holstered his gun and walked over to stand in front of the manager; he crossed his arms and stood glaring down at Bannister until Bannister finally hazarded a glance upward—and immediately looked away from the fury in the gunslinger's eyes. Chris leaned over and said softly, "Whatever had you spooked when we came in, I promise you: it ain't nothing compared to me."

Bannister burst into tears. Chris and Vin smiled.


	28. Chapter 28

The jail seemed three sizes smaller with all of the people who insisted on being present, but Chris had convinced Judge Travis that they all had a right to be there. Standing behind the judge, Chris glared over the desk at Preston Bannister, who was wringing his hat in his hands as he had done on the witness stand.

The door to Ezra's cell was open but Ezra sat on his cot, his expression guarded as usual; Harker sat beside him. The other five lawmen were arrayed around the room, while Trevor Jacob sat to Travis's right, looking at Bannister like a wolf might stare at a rabbit. Chris couldn't blame the prosecutor; he was hired to represent the bank, not its manager, and he was sure that Jacob was not going to be happy to learn he'd been prosecuting the wrong man.

Judge Travis cleared his throat. "Very well, Mr. Bannister, let's hear it."

"I want protection," Bannister said, his voice breaking on the last word.

"You ain't getting nothing until you talk," Chris growled.

Travis held up his hand before the gunslinger could take a step towards the manager. "Protection from whom?"

Bannister reached into his coat and pulled out a folded-up telegram, which he pushed across the desk. Travis took it and read it aloud. "Regret to inform you George Bannister found murdered. Request you come to Denver at once. I await your reply. Marshal Cook." He tossed the telegram back onto the desk; Bannister grabbed it and shoved it back into his coat. "I assume George Bannister is a relative of yours?"

"He's my brother. He was waiting for me in Denver, but now he's been killed and I'll be next!"

"Why? You know who killed him?" Buck asked.

"Yes, aren't you listening? His name is John Foster; you have to protect me from him!"

"Why do you think he'll come after you?" Travis asked impatiently.

"Because…because…" Bannister looked around the room like a cornered animal but found no sympathy from any quarter. Suddenly he slumped in his chair and said quietly, "Because I'm the only other person who knows he—we—robbed the bank."

There were various sounds of triumph around the room. Chris glanced over at Ezra, but the gambler had not moved, nor had his expression changed except, perhaps, to grow more intense.

"All right," Travis finally said, "you'd better start from the top."

"From the top?"

"Tell us about the robbery, jackass," Chris said, his jaw clenched tightly.

"Oh. Yes. I…it wasn't supposed to happen like this, you know. No one was ever supposed to get hurt—"

"Save it," Vin interrupted angrily. "Just tell us about that night."

Bannister shrank further into his chair and stared down at his hat as he continued. "It was Foster's idea. He and my brother, George, they worked for the Western Sky Mining Company. They'd been fired for theft, but they didn't do it—"

"I find that hard to believe," Josiah muttered drily, and Travis held his hand up again to shush him as Bannister continued.

"Well Foster may have done it, for all I know, but George wouldn't have!" Bannister insisted. "But he was so angry at being fired, and when he told Foster that I worked at the bank, well, I guess they decided they should rob the mining company for real. That's when they came to me."

"Why would you go along with that?" Jacob asked, incredulous. "You've been a loyal employee for, what, eighteen years? And a manager for seven—"

"And look where it got me!" Bannister shouted, finally looking up. "Dumped in this dusty backwater of a town! I was promised a bank in Denver and then they just fobbed me off here, like I was nothing. I deserved better!"

"What did Henry deserve?" Ezra's quiet question hung in the air. He stared hard at the bank manager but Bannister refused to look at him.

"He wasn't supposed to be there that night," Bannister finally choked out. "No one was. That's why we did in on a Sunday; Foster wanted to do it on Saturday, when there would be a lot of noise from the saloons and hotels, but I thought it would be better to do it when there were fewer people around, no one to see anything. We were going to make it look like a professional bank robber had gotten into the safe. It was so simple; it was perfect! But you…" he glanced towards Ezra but couldn't bring himself to actually meet the southerner's furious gaze. He fell silent.

"What happened during the robbery?" Travis finally prompted.

"Everything was going fine. I was kneeling in front of the safe, pulling everything out, when I heard the sound of a hammer being cocked. It's an awful thing to hear, I tell you. I thought it was Foster at first but then I heard a voice…"

* * *

><p>"<em>I'm terribly sorry to interrupt your evening, but I don't believe that belongs to you," Standish drawled. "Put the money down and turn around slowly with your hands in the air."<em>

_Preston froze, his mind racing, searching for a reasonable explanation. He set the money back in the safe but couldn't bring himself to face Standish. Of all the people to stumble on him, why did it have to be that detestable gambler? How did he have the nerve to try to arrest anyone when he belonged in jail himself?_

"_I said turn around." Standish's tone had taken on a menacing edge. _

_Whatever else happened, Preston didn't want to be shot; perhaps there was still a chance that he could talk his way out of this. Of course! He was the bank manager; he was just making sure the money was undisturbed! No one could say otherwise. Still facing the safe, he stood up with his hands raised and was opening his mouth to explain when he heard a solid thump. He turned in time to see Standish fall to the floor, George standing over him and holding his shotgun by the barrel._

"_You…you hit him with a shotgun?" Preston asked._

"_Well if I shot him, we'd have even more people dropping by," George replied._

_Preston fearfully stepped closer to the prone gambler, then nudged him with his foot. Standish's eyes were open but he didn't move and he didn't appear to be breathing. "Is he dead?" _

_George knelt beside Standish and put a hand on his neck. "Seen a doctor do this once at the mine; supposed to be able to feel a person's heartbeat like this." After a few seconds, he shook his head. "Nope." He held his hand near Standish's nose and mouth, then shook his head again and sighed. "Yeah, he's dead. Sorry, Preston; I didn't mean to hit him that hard."_

"_Sorry?" Preston said, a note of hysteria creeping into his voice. "He's part of the law in this town! We'll be hanged!"_

"_What did you want me to do, let him arrest you?"_

"_I don't know but—" He was interrupted by the sound of a scuffle coming from the back, then Henry Erickson stumbled into view, shoved by Foster, who followed close behind. _

_George grabbed his shotgun and leveled it at the teller. "Who are you? You part of the law too?"_

"_N-No, I'm a teller…Mr. Bannister, is that you?"_

"_What are you doing here, Henry?" Preston asked angrily._

"_I thought the bank was being robbed. I asked Ezra…" glancing around for the gambler, Henry finally noticed the body on the floor. "Ezra!" He made a move towards Standish but George held the shotgun in his face and he froze. "Mr. Bannister? What's going on?"_

"_Dammit, Henry…" Preston put a hand to his head and paced back towards the safe. Now what? Standish was dead, Henry had caught him red-handed…how was he going to get out of this? He turned back to the frightened young teller. "Look, Henry, I know this looks bad, but it's not what you think. Now, if you'll just walk out of here and promise not to say anything, I'll pay you…I'll pay you five hundred dollars—"_

"_What?" Foster exclaimed. "The hell with that!" _

_Preston never even saw the knife come out. He just saw Foster grab Henry and make a motion across his throat and then the boy was falling to his knees, blood pouring over the hand he held to his neck, then he was on the floor next to Standish and the blood was pooling between them, until it looked as if both of them had bled to death in that small space…_

* * *

><p>"Jesus…" JD murmured, repulsed.<p>

Everyone looked at Ezra, whose eyes were wide with shock, staring at nothing in particular. He raised his hand to the side of his face as if expecting to find it covered in blood. "It was everywhere…" he whispered.

Chris, Vin and Buck looked at each other, aghast, as they all remembered Ezra's terrified reaction to the water in that very cell:

…_his face and hands landed in the still-puddled water and he was suddenly sobbing as he pushed himself to his knees. "Oh my god…it's everywhere…"_

As they made the connection, they each opened their mouths to say something, but no words came.

Harker gently pulled Ezra's hand away and the touch seemed to snap Ezra out of his daze. He looked at Bannister with undisguised horror and disgust, then stood and walked out of the jail. JD moved to follow him, but Buck grabbed his arm and shook his head. "Give him some space," he said gently.

A stifling silence descended on the room, mitigated only slightly by the faint sounds of life from the street outside.

"There was nothing I could do," Bannister said cautiously.

Chris lunged at him so quickly, he had him out of the chair and up against the bars before anyone else could take a step. "You could'a said 'no' to the whole idea, you miserable bastard!" he shouted, slamming Bannister back forcefully. The manager whimpered pitifully, but no one stepped forward to stop the furious gunslinger. "Everything that's happened is because of _what…you…did_!" He shoved Bannister on each word for emphasis, and Judge Travis finally raised a hand.

"Mr. Larabee, that's enough," he said calmly.

Chris held Bannister against the bars for several more seconds, fighting back the almost overwhelming desire to beat the very life out of the cowering manager. Finally, with a last shove, he stepped back and allowed Bannister to retake his chair.

Judge Travis raised his eyebrows slightly but otherwise made no comment on Chris's outburst. "So whose idea was it to frame Ezra?" he asked, as though everything were proceeding normally.

Bannister's hands were trembling and sweat was running down the sides of his face, but he seemed to want the interview to end as quickly as possible and answered without hesitation. "Foster's. I just wanted to leave, but Foster said we'd come so far, there was no point in giving up now. He said we could hide the bodies and then I was supposed to…supposed to…" he trailed off and cast a fearful gaze towards Chris, who exhaled in disgust.

"You were supposed to point the finger at them."

"Y-yes. Mr. Standish doesn't exactly have a spotless reputation; I thought if I just said that I had told him about the payroll, it would naturally lead you to suspect him."

"And the ring?" Josiah asked.

"When George and Foster picked up Mr. Standish to, er, remove him from the bank, Foster noticed the ring and was going to keep it, but George said we should leave it in the bank for me to, ah, 'find' in the morning. I was so nervous, I forgot about it until you'd left the bank but then…well, you know the rest."

"But why leave Henry's glasses?" Buck asked.

"We didn't mean to; they must have fallen off."

"I can't believe you had the gall to accuse Ezra to his face after what you done," Vin said.

"I know!" Bannister said, with a slightly crazed laugh. "I was so stunned when I walked into the saloon and saw him sitting there. I mean, he was dead! But there he was! I was sure it was all over. I waited for him to say something, anything, but he just sat there! And then I realized that he had never seen my face or heard my voice and I thought, well now it's him or me and I still had his ring so I just…I just did it! I did it!" He broke off, laughing harder, but it quickly turned to sobs. "I don't know, I don't know…I'm so sorry…I never meant for any of this…my brother, my poor brother…"

"All right now, Mr. Bannister, just take it easy," Nathan said, his healer's sympathy overtaking his revulsion as he knelt next to the hysterical man. "Try to take a deep breath…that's it…" After several moments, Bannister had calmed enough to continue and Nathan was happy to step away.

"And now you believe your brother has been murdered by John Foster?" Judge Travis asked.

"Yes," Bannister said, sniffling miserably. "They rode out towards Denver that night. I was originally supposed to stay in town for a day or two, then say I'd been fired because of the robbery and join them. Only I couldn't leave because of the trial; I had to stay and testify. Then a few days ago, George started sending me telegrams that Foster was going through his share so fast and getting tired of waiting. And then I got this telegram," he patted his coat pocket, "and I knew he'd killed George. He killed Henry without a thought; I'm sure he killed George for the rest of the money. And now it was all for nothing! He's gone and it's all for nothing!"

"'For the wages of sin is death...'" Josiah said softly.

"Speaking of which," Vin said to Bannister, "you never told us what you did with Henry and Ezra. Where the hell did you take them?"

"I…I didn't." Bannister stammered.

"Goddammit, Bannister, I swear I'll take your head off," Chris snarled.

"It's the truth! I couldn't…I-I just couldn't…so George and Foster took care of them. I don't know what they did, I swear! I don't know how Mr. Standish got away; no one said that anything had gone wrong." He stared at Chris, his breathing anxious, then he suddenly straightened, adjusting his coat and smoothing his hair. "There. I've told you everything I know, now I want protection!" The imperious Bannister had returned, brandishing a warning finger at Judge Travis.

Chris grabbed the outstretched hand and twisted until Bannister stumbled out of his chair with a howl, then hauled him to the far right cell and flung him inside.

Buck slammed the door shut and locked it with a satisfied smirk. "There, you're protected."

For a moment, it appeared that Bannister would protest but then his face fell and he sank to the cot without another word. The others gathered around Judge Travis, who rubbed his brow tiredly and sighed. "Well, I've seen my share of unexpected outcomes, but this is certainly one of the more…unusual…cases." He cast a thin smile at Harker, "It appears you've won, Gideon; your client is free to go."

"Glad to hear it. If you'll excuse me, I'll see if I can find him to tell him." With a nod to the lawmen, Harker left, accompanied by Jacob, who now had to wire his clients at the bank to explain the turn of events.

As the door shut behind them, Chris thought again about the terrible scene that Bannister had described and shook his head in sorrow. "Guess you were right, Nathan." The healer looked at him in confusion so he explained, "About why Ezra might not remember anything."

The healer nodded in understanding. "Yeah, between the blow to the head and seeing Henry die like that, it's not surprising."

"How come Ezra didn't notice the injury though? No one did." Vin asked, his eyes clouded with guilt.

Nathan shrugged. "If it didn't break the skin, it wouldn't necessarily be obvious to anyone else. Head wounds don't have to look bad or even feel bad to actually be bad. Plus he said when he was testifying that he didn't remember much of the first day after the robbery; by the time he was thinking clearly, it just may not have registered." He put a hand on the tracker's shoulder reassuringly. "Ain't nobody's fault, Vin."

"Except Bannister's," Chris added, glancing over his shoulder at the man who was now slumped with his back against the wall and his head hanging low over his chest. It might have been pitiable, if he hadn't been the architect of such misery.

"What's gonna happen to him now?" JD asked in a low voice.

"I don't know yet; I have a lot to think about," Judge Travis replied. "Obviously prison at the very least; the question is whether he deserves to hang," he held up a hand to forestall the comments that all six men were about to make, "and I'll make that decision on my own, thank you, after I've had a chance to digest all of this."

"At least we finally got answers though," Buck said.

"Yeah, mostly," JD replied, "but now there's nobody who knows where Henry is."

Chris gazed out the front windows at the street and sighed. "I think maybe Ezra does."


	29. Chapter 29

They'd expected to find Ezra at the saloon but he wasn't there. They stepped back outside, prepared to split up, when JD glanced down the street and caught sight of a familiar green coat.

Ezra stood facing the front door frame of the unfinished Silver Star Hotel, turning something over in his fingers. If he heard them approaching, he didn't react. By some unspoken understanding, Chris walked up to the southerner alone while the others hung back and waited near the bank. As he reached Ezra's side, he could finally see the object he held: the ruby ring that had precipitated Ezra's arrest.

"Guess Harker found you," Chris said.

Ezra continued to turn it over, watching the sunlight play off the stone. "Yes; it's gratifying to have one's property restored."

"And one's freedom?"

"That too. Alas, my fine red coat will now be relegated to the trash pit."

"You got your own tailor, don't ya? You could always get a new one made."

Ezra didn't look up. "You know, I don't believe I could wear…" he broke off and shook his head, swallowing hard.

For a moment, Chris considered backing off, not asking anything further, just letting Ezra be. The gambler was hardly one to show his cards at the best of times, and hadn't he been through enough already? He glanced down the boardwalk at the others, waiting with expressions of concern. Buck took a step in their direction but Chris shook his head. Still, the sympathy on his old friend's face gave him a sharp reminder: Buck had been there for Chris in his darkest hour; now it was Chris's turn to pay it forward.

"How much do you remember now?" Chris asked quietly.

"Enough. Too much." Chris thought he saw a slight shudder before Ezra continued. "There've been flashes for days. More of a feeling, really…this terrible dread… Sometimes I'd just see black and feel like I was suffocating."

"Is that what happened when Jacob was questioning you?"

He nodded. "Now there is a man who is living his destiny." Ezra tried for a smile but it quickly faded. "He asked who else I'd ever taught to play poker…"

"Your cousins, right?"

"Yes. I was the oldest; they looked up to me. They had regular parents and regular lives so this game that I knew was somehow fascinating to them and it…" he sighed, "it gave me a place, I guess. Henry reminded me of them."

"That's a good thing, ain't it?"

"It was. Now I wish I'd never agreed to teach him."

"Ezra, what happened ain't your fault. You know that, right?"

Ezra turned the ring a few more times before holding it up briefly. "The moment Mr. Bannister first gave this to you in the saloon, I felt…an overwhelming guilt. After I heard about Henry, it grew worse."

Chris recalled baiting Ezra after Inez's testimony, asking whether Ezra had killed Henry; he'd had no idea what a cruel question it had been. "You saying you thought you'd done it?"

"No…I don't know, maybe. I kept thinking that I wouldn't have, that I _couldn't_ have, but then I'd see this ring or the coat or Henry's glasses and I'd feel that guilt and I was sure I had to have done _something_ wrong. When Mr. Bannister confessed just now...," he laughed bitterly, "for a split second I actually thought, '_Well, hell, I knew that_.' And then I realized: I _knew_ that, and it was as if I'd never forgotten at all and I was back at the bank, and I knew what I'd done wrong." He paused, as though expecting that Chris could now see it as well, but he couldn't.

"What, you think it's wrong that you got away?"

Another laugh, this one painful. "I didn't get away."

Chris stared at him, confused. "I don't—"

"I couldn't move, Chris! I could hear everyone talking but it was gibberish. I heard Henry come in and I tried to say something, I tried to move even a finger, but nothing worked. I couldn't do a damn thing." His voice dropped, so that Chris had to step closer to hear. "By the time they were carrying us out, I knew Henry was dead. I started to think maybe I was too; maybe that was why I couldn't do anything. They took us in there," he motioned into the half-built hotel. "I remember wondering, _'If I'm dead, why hasn't my mind shut down yet?'_ And then I just prayed that it would…" He stared into the hotel, his eyes filled with shock and despair.

They stood in silence for several moments. As Chris watched the ring turning over and over, he found his attention shifting to the hands that held it and realized suddenly that there was one piece of evidence that had never really been considered. Two fingernails had been irreparably torn and would take months to heal but the cuts were now thin pink lines and the bruises were fading well. Nevertheless, Ezra's nimble hands would forever bear the marks of the horrific ordeal he'd undergone and what he'd done to escape.

Henry nowhere to be found…the injured hands…the red coat, ripped and filthy…Ezra feeling like he was suffocating…it was so clear now:

"They thought you were both dead. So they buried you."

The hands went still, then Ezra took a shuddering breath and laid a hand on the side of the building as if to prop himself up. The ring fell to the boardwalk, unnoticed.

As the puzzle pieces finally fell into place, Chris continued without thinking, "That's why Bannister didn't know; they were all long gone by the time you…" Ezra held up a hand before he could say the rest: _dug yourself out_.

"Don't. I can't…you can't imagine…" Ezra stopped, determinedly blinking back tears.

Chris felt wholly out of his depth, unsure what to say, but he wanted—needed—to understand: "God, Ezra, you're right, I can't. But you didn't do nothing wrong. Dammit, you _survived_! What's wrong with that?"

"I couldn't save him!" Ezra cried, as he finally lost his struggle to maintain control. "And then I just left him here!" He sagged against the wall, then sank to the ground, his head in his hands. "I've left him here all this time. How could I do that?"

Recrimination; it was something Chris was painfully familiar with, so he was sure Ezra genuinely wanted an answer to his question. _You were injured; you were half-dead yourself; you couldn't remember_…all were true. Unfortunately, Chris was even more painfully aware that the truth didn't always help, and for some questions, no answer would ever be good enough. So instead he just knelt and said softly, "I'm sorry, Ezra."

After a moment, Ezra nodded and ran a hand roughly across his face, then motioned through the doorway. "He shouldn't have to stay in there any longer."

"He won't."

"Henry deserves a proper burial."

"He'll get one," Chris promised.

Ezra closed his eyes. "I can't go in there," he whispered.

"Hey," Chris motioned to the other five men to join them then put a hand on the back of Ezra's neck and waited until the gambler finally met his eyes. "We'd never ask you to."


	30. Chapter 30

Some part of Chris had thought everything was over the moment Bannister finally confessed, but it came to seem as though they would never finish tying up the loose ends.

It took a couple of hours to recover Henry's body. Even knowing he was buried somewhere in the hotel construction, the exact spot was difficult to find amongst the dirt and debris; Foster and George Bannister had taken care to conceal it well, and Ezra's escape had done little to reveal it. If construction had continued on the Silver Star, Chris was certain that Henry would never have been found. Nevertheless, Chris kept his word and refused to ask Ezra for more information. By the time they carried Henry out, a crowd had gathered in the street. The silence that accompanied their small procession to the undertaker's was overwhelming.

They sent word of John Foster to Denver but Marshal Cook could find no trace of him and no indication of where he went. Judge Travis issued a warrant for Foster's arrest, but Chris feared the lowlife had lucked into a perfect getaway. Still, they were keeping their eyes out in case he was dumb enough to return to Four Corners.

After much deliberation, Judge Travis sentenced Preston Bannister to 25 years of hard labor. Far from being disappointed that Bannister had avoided the death penalty, Ezra simply said, "Good. I'd hate for his misery to end so quickly." Chris couldn't help agreeing, but speaking with the judge later, it didn't appear that he expected Bannister to last very long regardless:

* * *

><p>"<em>You saw his erratic behavior during his confession; he's a weak-minded man. And yet he's already demanding—demanding!—special consideration and treatment because of his social standing," Travis scoffed.<em>

"_What social standing?" Chris asked._

"_My point exactly—he still thinks he has one. I'm sure you know that kind of attitude won't go over well with his fellow inmates."_

_Chris shook his head. "Yeah, but he almost pulled off a bigger con than Ezra ever dreamed of out of pure self-preservation. Men like that, they manage to keep surviving when they shouldn't."_

"_Well then, he'll make his own hell or someone will send him there—either way, our job is done."_

* * *

><p>Joseph and Emma Erickson, along with their younger son, Brian, arrived in town on Saturday. They'd set out from their home in Nebraska while the trial was still underway and arrived nervous but hopeful that their son might still be alive; Judge Travis had to break the terrible news. Ezra spent several hours with the grieving family; Chris assumed he must have shared stories of Henry's life in Four Corners, for when they left on Sunday with Henry's body, Emma gave the gambler a tearful hug that seemed to catch him off guard but left him smiling sadly.<p>

Gideon Harker departed the next day, ready to return to his interrupted retirement. There was a large party there to see him off: Judge Travis and all seven lawmen said their goodbyes at the stagecoach. Ezra and Harker shared a few words that Chris didn't hear, but he could see that there was a mutual respect between them. Chris was oddly sorry to see Harker go; he was the first lawyer that had ever made the gunslinger appreciate the profession. He said as much and Harker laughed good-naturedly, "Well, son, as gunslingers go, I can honestly say the same for you."

A few hours later, as the afternoon light began to deepen in preparation for evening, the seven of them sat around a table in the saloon together for the first time in weeks. Ezra was free, there was no trial to worry about, nothing more exciting than a spilled drink had happened that day…it was almost perfec—

"Can you believe it was two weeks ago today that Ezra was first arrested?"

"Aw, JD, what the hell? Buck, you're closer; hit him for me."

"Ow! What?" JD said innocently, rubbing the back of his head.

"It's fine, Chris," Ezra said amicably. "You needn't walk on eggshells around me; it's bound to be discussed. I imagine it, and I, will be a _cause célèbre_ for some time—"

"A coz what?" Buck interrupted.

"_Cause célèbre_; it means 'a subject of great interest.'"

"Then why don't'cha just say 'a subject of great interest?'" Vin asked.

"I did; I said it in French."

"Well, keep that up and I reckon no one'll talk to ya about nothin'."

"Is that all it takes? If only you'd told me sooner; now I'll have to actually learn the language."

They all laughed at the retort and, for a moment, it was as if the past few weeks had never happened. Josiah drained his glass and stood to get another drink, but Ezra insisted on buying the next round and went to the bar himself.

"Wow, Ezra buying drinks…guess he's not back to himself yet," JD said. Instantly the mood grew somber and JD tried to backtrack. "Sorry, I just meant…"

"It's okay, kid," Buck said. "Truth is, he really ain't. You know, this is the first time he's actually sat in the saloon since he got out of jail."

"Haven't seen him playing poker at all neither," Vin added. "And have you noticed that he don't complain about anything?"

"Well, that one's kind of a good thing," Josiah said.

"Maybe," Vin conceded, "but it ain't normal. He's too quiet; it's like he's just in his own head all the time."

Chris nodded in agreement. He strongly suspected that Ezra was holding onto more guilt than he'd admitted to, but he wasn't willing to push the issue yet.

"So what do we do?" JD asked.

"Ain't nothing _to_ do," Nathan said. "The man had to dig himself out of his own grave. It's only been a few days since he remembered."

Buck shuddered. "I can't imagine being awake through everything and not being able to do anything."

"I don't think he was," Nathan said.

"He seemed pretty clear on what he told me," Chris disagreed.

"Yeah, now," Nathan replied. "But he was probably in and out of consciousness the whole time. I think Bannister filled in enough blanks that it just seems like he was awake all the way through it. Most likely, he didn't really 'wake up' until…well, you know." His expression turned queasy for a moment, then he shook it off. "Anyway, it's just gonna take some time."

"But what if…" JD trailed off, embarrassed.

"What?" Buck prompted.

"Well what if the old Ezra don't ever come back?"

"Then we ride with the Ezra we got," Chris said firmly, then gave a nod to the man in question as Ezra returned with a bottle in hand and fresh glasses.

"Gentlemen," Ezra said as he sat down, "if you'll allow me, I give you Smith River Premium Number Four. An excellent bourbon whiskey; easily the finest I've ever tasted. Unfortunately, the distiller came down with an incurable case of religious temperance and has forsaken his craft. This is, in fact, the last bottle in Four Corners and, quite possibly, the entire territory." He poured two fingers' worth in each glass and shared them around the table. They raised their glasses in a brief toast and took a drink.

It was indeed a mellow, woody whiskey with a lingering finish of spice. Given its rarity, Chris guessed it was expensive. "That's excellent; thanks, Ezra."

Ezra nodded, then looked around the table with a slightly self-conscious expression. "I, ah…well, it occurred to me that I hadn't yet expressed my appreciation to you all for your support over the past few weeks. It can't have been easy to stand by me when there was so much evidence against me. So, I sincerely thank you all."

"We're your friends, Ezra; we know you better."

From the look on Ezra's face, Josiah's statement carried more meaning than Chris understood. The gambler gave the preacher a grateful nod and Josiah smiled back.

In the sudden lull, a voice drifted from the bar nearby. "Hate to say it, but I'm glad Mr. Bannister confessed. Sure would'a been embarrassing to get that verdict wrong."

Chris could see the man standing at the bar; he was one of the jurors. The smile froze on Ezra's face and he slowly lowered his whiskey glass.

"Ezra…"

"I'm fine. I'm just going to get some air." He stood to leave, but the juror had heard Chris say Ezra's name and he stepped away from the bar and into his path. "Ah, Mr. Turner, yes?" Ezra started cordially, but couldn't think of what else to say.

"Yeah, Jeb Turner," the juror said, holding out his hand. Ezra shook it as the man continued, "Sorry, I didn't see you there or I'd have come on over. I was the foreman on your jury."

"Oh. Well, thank you for your time; I'm sorry it was all for nothing." Ezra smiled a thin smile; Chris could tell he wanted desperately to leave but Turner didn't notice.

"Not at all. Listen, I was going to come find you anyway. Wanted to give you something." He reached into his back pocket, pulled out a folded piece of paper and handed it to Ezra, who took it tentatively.

"What's this?"

"Well, we'd actually finished the uh…whaddaya call it…del…delber…"

"Deliberations," Ezra supplied.

"Yeah, that. We were done when the judge ended the trial; we'd already filled out the paper he gave us. Thought you might like to have it as a souvenir—ain't every day you go to trial like that, right?" He clapped Ezra on the shoulder and left.

The others sat in uncomfortable silence for several moments. Finally Buck said, "Aw, hell, Ezra; don't mind it. Jeb's a good guy; I'm sure he meant well."

"Yes, of course." Ezra rubbed his eyes, then turned and grabbed his whiskey glass and downed the remainder in a single gulp. "Well, I guess I may as well see it in writing, right?" Before anyone could stop him, he unfolded the paper, then sank unsteadily back into his chair as the words in front of him registered.

"Ezra?" Chris asked with some concern.

Ezra tossed the paper into the middle of the table, his eyes shining. "They found me not guilty."

Buck whooped and slapped the table, garnering stares from nearby patrons. The others took turns congratulating the stunned gambler, who finally said, "But Mr. Turner said…"

"Guess he just meant that now he's sure they were right," Vin said. "There's been a lot of taking things the wrong way lately."

Everyone smiled at the comment, then Ezra shook his head in disbelief. "Don't mistake me, gentlemen, I am exceedingly grateful for this but…with all that evidence, why on earth didn't they convict me?"

Chris suddenly remembered Harker's opening statement: _You all seem like good folks and I know Ezra appreciates you all coming out to support him as he faces these terrible accusations._ For so long, and even when Harker had spoken those words, Chris had seen himself and his six compatriots as outsiders bringing unwelcome order to an unwilling and ungrateful town. But maybe that was because they were always dealing directly with the worst element, with the people who wanted to be able to break the law.

Now he thought back to the morning of the robbery, to the moment before they saw Bannister, when he'd looked at the growth in the town and felt the positive change in the air. It somehow hadn't occurred to him that it was largely thanks to their efforts—and that people might actually appreciate it. In that light, Chris knew exactly why they'd found Ezra innocent. "Because they've seen the good you done here, Ezra; that's all the evidence they needed."

* * *

><p><em>THE END<em>  
><em>Thanks for reading! Hope you enjoyed :-)<em>


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